Hiding Behind Locked Doors
by The Water Daemon
Summary: A story of four robotic Neopets, two criminals and an author's quest to put down a storyline that had been inducing insomnia. Fear the crappiness. Rating subject to go up. FINALLY FINISHED!
1. Reactivation

Author's Note: This story never should've been written, but it was because it annoyed the crap out of me and didn't allow me to get any sleep. It's like I ate too much Metropolis, Evangelion and Neopets and then upchucked this. Neopets is copyright whomever owns it.  
  
  
  
"A human being is part of a whole, called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest. . .a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." -Albert Einsten  
  
  
  
A sole ship floated through space, moving too slowly to escape from even the slowest colony ship.  
  
The poor soul was a hunted pilot, having been on the lam for the past month or so, attempting to flee from an ever-present pursuer. He knew that this thing was there for his radar indicated such a presence-well, technically, it indicated nothing in that area, a pocket of emptiness, a black hole of sorts. Through process of elimination, seeing that he was not being sucked in or being scrunched into all strange proportions, he had deduced that he was being followed by a cloaked ship, though obviously using a very old- fashioned cloaking device. He had not been concerned at first-in fact, he had almost been relieved. After he had fled from the massacre, he had been wandering alone in space for what seemed to be eternity.  
  
"Commander Aiolos of the Qatak Alien Aisha clan wishing to confirm your entry into similar airspace. Over."  
  
Nothing had responded. Not even a slight little blip on the vocal screen, or a flicker of an image screen coming up. There was only silence, his radar indicating that the emptiness was coming closer. Boosting with slight anxiety, hoping to put a little distance between the two of them until he had confirmed that the target was not hostile, he repeated his request, only to be greeted by even more silence and the acceleration of the emptiness. The pilot Aiolos continued to tirelessly into the receiver, continuing to accelerate away from the object. When he moved, it only seemed to get closer, drawing in on him as a cat does an injured mouse.  
  
This had continued for days, weeks. . .in all truth, he had mostly lost sense of time that he had been chased. The hapless pilot Aiolos knew he was trapped, but continued on his futile quest forwards, trying to outrun his pursuer, hoping that a rogue planet would show his face that he could possibly land on. But no, he continued to only see a vast expanse of darkness, his sleep-deprived eyes just barely able to keep themselves open. He knew his capture was imminent to this figure, a figure he had contemplated over the days, just guessing at what it was. He could barely even determine the class and type of ship that it was, but had figured it had to be one of the models flown by pilots from Sloth's army, pursuing him from the day of the massacre.  
  
His gas was nearly at zero-he needed to refill the energy compartments stationed at the bottom of his ship, or it would soon sputter and die, leaving him to the 24 hour life support system before he was totally doomed. Feeling he had no other choice, he slowed his ship to a halt, waiting for the ship to come close enough to contact. The blip of his radar was the only thing he could hear within his cockpit besides the steady hum of the engine with the occasional cough from lack of energy. Once more, he tried to reach the pilot of the ship. "Please, Commander Aiolos here. What is your purpose. . .?" he asked warily, rubbing his face with his hand.  
  
"Revenge, Aisha," replied a stone-cold voice, a voice so familiar it sent a wave of paralysis up his spine. Swallowing hard, the Aisha gripped at the receiver, feeling sweat dripping down his forehead.  
  
"Requesting image transmitter."  
  
"Don't be a fool, Aisha-you know full well who I am," snorted the voice, slightly amused. "You do not need to see the face of your undoing. It will only make your retinas burn."  
  
"You. . .you. . ." hissed Aiolos, his eyes narrowing at the empty space in front of him. "My battalion. . .I am the one who should be seeking revenge. You were the one who decimated my battalion, lured them in like fish and then crushed them like bugs!" he cried into the receiver, unfiltered hatred in his voice. "You, the messiah of Death!"  
  
"Messiah? I wouldn't go that far, Aisha-I am an immortal, but anything but a messiah. Now be a good dog, and hold still while I aim. I can do this quickly or slowly, Aisha-it would be in your best interests to opt for the quick route." A hint of desperation caught in Aiolos' throat. He had suspected that the ship had been on a route to destroy him-but now that it was reality, it struck him in a much different light. Suddenly, he could not accept the fact that he would very well die that day, the cold hand of death reaching for his throat; no, he couldn't die. His life was too important; he deserved to live, not the others. If they had been sacrificed to let him live, so be it. He had to live.  
  
"No, wait.we can talk this out, can't we?" squeaked the Aisha, his mood having swung considerably. His hands shook so, the receiver quivering along with his voice. "I. . .I can give you what you want. . .information. . .on the Alien Aisha's home base. I can be your slave. . .I don't care. . .whatever you want, I'll give it to you!" he cried. He could feel the sweat mixing with desperate tears streaking down his face, dripping down from his helmet onto his uniform. "I could be a valuable asset. . ."  
  
"There is only one thing I want from you, Aisha: your life."  
  
Suddenly, the ship appeared from nowhere, directly in front of the Aisha. Somehow it had gotten in front of him while he had thought it behind- it was not a faulty cloaking device that his opponent possessed, but one highly advanced, designed to trick the pilot of the attacking or escaping ship. Indeed, it was a standard issue ship from Sloth's intergalactic army, not looking anything special at all: the cockpit was what the ship mostly contained of, a large sphere with boosters on the back and lasers on the front. It was the same ship that had committed that horrible massacre. The lasers lifted upwards into firing position. Aiolos could see down the barrels of the laser cannons. His eyes widened as he saw energy collecting within the two barrels, the light of the end of his life.  
  
He barely managed to emit a scream before he and his ship were disintegrated, leaving nothing behind.  
  
  
  
X_001 requesting access to server.  
  
Access denied. Enter passcode.  
  
Kummer  
  
Access granted. Confirm reactivation of Neopets V.2.0?  
  
Reactivation confirmed.  
  
Now reactivating. One moment please. . .  
  
Reactivated. Now on communication network with NPv2.  
  
NPv2 Who are you?  
  
X_001 I am the doctor.  
  
NPv2 This is not the doctor's username.  
  
X_001 No. I am the real doctor.  
  
NPv2 Who?  
  
X_001 I am the doctor.  
  
NPv2 Why did you deactivate me? You hurt my feelings.  
  
X_001 That was not me.  
  
NPv2 Then who was it?  
  
X_001 I do not know.  
  
NPv2 . . .  
  
NPv2 I am ready for my lesson.  
  
X_001 There will be no lesson today. You have a task.  
  
NPv2 A task. Will you play with me afterwards?  
  
X_001 Perhaps.  
  
Now sending data. Waiting for reply. . .  
  
Data sent.  
  
NPv2 Promise you will play with me if I succeed?  
  
X_001 If you carry out this mission, our playtime will be infinite.  
  
NPv2 . . .  
  
Mission accepted.  
  
  
  
If Psyche heard her owner's shrill voice ringing through her metallic ears one more time, she swore she would do something drastic.  
  
Of course, this wasn't the first time that such a feeling had swept so strongly over the irritated Robot Blumaroo. She was supposed to be a pet to her owner, but most of the time she felt just like handmaid to either her owner or her equally as vain Uni, who had spent half of her life in front of the mirror, slowly stroking and combing her long, luxurious mane while Psyche formed rust on her parts from washing in the windows for the fifth time that day. It was enough to make the robot go absolutely insane, but according to her owner, such a feat wasn't even possible: robots did not possess personalities.  
  
And there it was: the sound that Psyche could easily compare to nails on chalkboard: her owner's voice, calling for yet another task for her to complete. "PSYCHE! Oh, Psyche, get up here NOW!" Gritting what could be called her teeth, she managed to control her anger to not have an outburst. (She knew the consequences of such an act would be much more dire than simply doing whatever her owner requested, from personal experience.) A storm cloud seeming to loom over her head, Psyche stomped up the stairs of her owner's fashionable NeoHome to where the voice was coming from; predictably, it was coming from the bedroom. Dreading going in there, Psyche took in a deep breath before taking the doorknob and opening it.  
  
Immediately, she was hit with a blast of perfume, pungent enough to paralyze all Lupes and Gelerts in a five mile radius if the windows had been opened. They were closed, however, the frilly pink drapes pulled over them. The room in itself was a shock to walk in as well, as everything seemed to be colored pink or a shade there of-it was enough to give one seizures. It was one room where Psyche could thank whatever created her had made her mind mechanical for the time being, though her eyes still seemed to throb against the blinding color. In the middle of the pink Hell, on a bed shaped as a heart, sat her owner and the cursed Uni named Alexa.  
  
Her owner was the kind that any respectable Lupe would cringe at being owned by. With a great plume of blonde hair, in a hairstyle more suitable for the eighties than the twenty-first century, she resembled a stick of cotton candy, with the skinny frame to boot. Well, make that a heavily made-up stick of cotton candy; she wore enough makeup to cover a separate planet to itself. Perhaps she was beautiful underneath that layer of makeup, but if anybody had attempted to chisel it off sometime in life, they had probably miserably failed.  
  
The Uni Alexa was more or less an equine version of Psyche's owner, although she might even qualify for some kind of beauty contest: she was pink, just like everything else in the room, with thousands of barrettes and ribbons tied tightly into her mane and tail, which were all wonderfully combed and shampooed. (Psyche, on the other hand, couldn't remember the last time her owner had treated her to a decent oiling job. She was forced to go to a car wash by herself to get a reasonable tune-up job.) Her hooves were graciously clipped, and her eyelashes long and full with mascara-when she batted them, Psyche could feel the wind from where she stood, at least ten feet away.  
  
"Ah, there you are, darling," said her owner, giving a relieved sigh, waving one of her hands laced with fake jewels. She pointed towards two pink leather suitcases on the floor. "There you are, darling. Be a good pet and pack up for lovely Alexa and me. Oh, and don't forget some of your stuff as well," she added as an afterthought, her eyes blinking lazily, probably tired from the burden of all the eye shadow on her eyelids. Psyche lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"What for?" she asked, suspicious. A smile spread across her owner's prettily ugly face, painted in bright red.  
  
"Oh, darling, did I not tell you?" The way she said darling so insincerely really grated on Psyche's nerves. "Oh, well, now you know. We're going on a vacation!" Psyche shuddered, imaging to which they were going. Probably some place like Mystery Island with beautiful sun and surf, only for her owner to find solace inside of a tanning booth somewhere. "And I think you should feel very at home, darling. . .we're going to the VirtuPet Station!"  
  
Psyche's ears perked up. She could almost feel her lips curving into a smile, a rare event indeed. "Wh-when did you plan this?"  
  
"Oh, Alexa-girl and I have been discussing it for some time now. . .it should be fun, shouldn't it? I was thinking I could adopt one of those ADORABLE Grundos while we're at it. . .wouldn't that be absolutely MAGNIFICENT?" gushed Psyche's owner. Alexa nodded, bored, her mane bouncing with her head. "Now, what are you waiting for, Psyche, darling? Get to packing, we mustn't waste a moment!" cried Psyche's owner, and promptly fell into a deep sleep, her head sagging onto her oversized bust.  
  
Psyche didn't waste a minute in starting to pack. Although she hated all of the chores that were piled onto her metal shoulders, if it meant a vacation to somewhere she had always dreamed of, she would gladly carry both Alexa and her owner on a silver platter all the way there, although she doubted she would be able to bear the weight of both of them. Opening up the potpourri-filled dresser drawers of Alex and her owner, she quickly began stuffing things into the two suitcases, which could probably fit the whole closet if Psyche really tried.  
  
"Don't wrinkle my things-lie them NEATLY," ordered Alexa, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The distaste was evident in her voice. Ever since Psyche had been brought home by her new owner, having found her discarded idly next to a trash can with still enough power to be reactivated, Alexa had been terribly resentful towards Psyche. It was understandable-she had been used to being her owner's only pet, worshipped like a golden idol. Having a new pet in her house was a clear threat, although it was obvious her owner never intended Psyche to be much more than a cleaning unit.  
  
"No problem, princess," Psyche replied with a fake sweetness, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Don't be sarcastic with me, Dyke," growled Alexa, baring her pathetic excuse for teeth. Apparently in her paranoid homophobia, she had creatively created an offensive nickname for Psyche. "I can have you booted out of this household any time I like. . .it's only a matter of time," said Alexa with a triumphant smirk. It was true-if Alexa had ever reported any abuse on Psyche's part to Alexa, Psyche would probably be out with the trash once again.  
  
"Whatever you say, princess," grumbled Psyche, averting her eyes, adding her own colorful spurt of language after her comment. Alexa, having not heard her comment, returned to putting her mane back in place, leaving Psyche in peace to pack their stuff.  
  
Ten bags later and her own little addition of tune-up tools, Psyche believed it would be more appropriate if she had been a Robotic Uni. . .she sure felt like a pack mule of some sort, her body barely visible underneath all of the bags that she had been forced to tote around. Her only guide was her owner's voice, and that wasn't very accurate-she found herself bumping into many people and solid objects through her owner's inaccurate advice. Finally, she was forced to bring up an x-ray vision program to allow herself to navigate properly through the center of the VirtuPet Station.  
  
The trip there had been nominally uneventful, except for perhaps when Psyche first had to load up the bags onto her back and arms. The shoot upwards towards the space station would have been more fascinating if Psyche hadn't had everything hidden behind a wall of pink suitcases. And now, here she was in the famous VirtuPet Space Station, and was being forced to view it in lime green light through an x-ray screen. But she wouldn't complain-just being here was enough.  
  
Her owner informed both Alexa and Psyche where they would be staying- the thirteenth floor. Psyche was pretty sure that they usually didn't build a thirteenth floor (well, technically they did, but they named it the fourteenth because of superstition), but did not argue-besides, she was too tired to try and use speech from lugging around all of their stuff. The three (with all the suitcases, it more qualified as five) crammed into the elevator and shot up to the thirteenth floor, where they found their room and began to unpack.  
  
"Psyche, darling, we can do these things ourselves. Besides, we have to do a little redecorating," Psyche's owner called to her as Psyche arranged herself in the bathroom, putting her stuff away in the cabinets underneath the sink. "You just go downstairs and get us a little snack, understand?" cooed her owner, tossing Psyche a pair of keys. Psyche extended her arm, just barely catching them. A wave of relief washed over her. She would have a little time to herself.  
  
"Understood," she replied, though hardly heard a word after 'we can do these things ourselves.' It was rare that Alex and Psyche's owner were able to do something by themselves-usually they preferred to have Psyche do their slave work. Having been temporarily liberated from such duties, Psyche rushed out of the room, feeling relieved as she got into the elevator, punching in the lobby button. Once the door opened, she gladly jumped out to find herself in the midst of a bustle of tourists. Her eyes lit up as she saw the Weapon shop, a giddy grin spreading over her face. She rarely ever got to try out weapons, as the Battledome 'would rust up her metal,' according to her owner.  
  
Indulging in her own guilty pleasures, Psyche happily skipped towards the shop.  
  
"Target sighted. Waiting for further instructions." The robotic Tuskaninny whistled after saying such a thing, trying to keep her demeanor looking natural even as she spoke such peculiar thing. She looked down distastefully at the garbage bin she pushed along, which was really more part of her stomach. Though the Space Station tourists would see her as merely another janitorial robot, she could never think of herself at such lowly standards. To think such a thing would be a sin against everything that she had ever valued.  
  
A voice crackled into her mind, directly connected to the circuits inside of her electronic brain. "Confirmed. Unit #90289 Tristus is to cover Guard Unit #356 Tacitus in the operation."  
  
The Tuskaninny robot could hardly believe her inner ear. She, the great Tristus, was to cover her useless partner? Anger flared inside of her mind, and she replied in a low tone of voice. "I can do this on my own, Tacitus!" she hissed furiously, almost sucking in the part of her stomach that contained the garbage in her rage.  
  
" Do not defy orders. And hush your voice, number 90289.I could easily hear you across the Space Station," a voice whispered into her ear, passing right by her. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, only to see a familiar robotic Lupe pass her by, walking confidently towards the Weapon store where Tristus had spotted the target, not even looking back to acknowledge Tristus' presence. He always treated her like a common human or organic Neopet would to a robot, and it utterly disgusted her.  
  
There was not a chance that she would allow the arrogant jerk to get credit for something that should rightfully be hers. If she couldn't perform the operation, then it was up to her to screw it up royally, even if it did result in her deactivation. She had been deactivated before- besides the haziness of reactivation, it was not entirely that bad, although she did fear she might be scrapped entirely for failing twice. Her boss did not appreciate failure.  
  
Rolling forwards after the Lupe, she increased her acceleration, flying past tourists, weaving through them like the expert she was. She was quickly advancing on the Lupe-she knew the layout of the Space Station much more than him, who seemed a bit lost, even having only to go in a straight line. She had become accustomed to the flocks of people and Neopets, as well as having to maneuver around them, treating them with the proper respect. For the time being, though, respect was disregarded-she did not politely smile and bow towards her so-called superiors. For just a moment, she felt not like a slave, but like an equal-but this lasted for only a few fleeting moments before someone jammed a bag of trash into her stomach, temporarily delaying her.  
  
Just as soon as she had finished rearranging the trash in her stomach, she finally got a clear view of Tacitus. Narrowing her eyes, she increased her speed tremendously, still able to dodge around people and Neopets, although some did turn their attention towards her, baffled. She followed him all the way into the store. Seeing him approaching the target, she grabbed a random object off the shelf and charged at the Lupe, swinging it madly. "Bastard! You never returned my calls!" she screamed, conjuring up a lie that might merit a real life reason to swing out at him.  
  
"Calls? Wha-" Tacitus' confusion was cut off as she slammed him squarely in the bum, causing him to yelp in pain. He spun around, growling, shoving his face into hers, his eyes glowing red with anger. He spoke in a low, threatening voice, as if he had total authority over her. "Look, agent, you are not authorized to do such a thing. . .it was made clear by our boss that-"  
  
"Oh, eat Grundo crap," snarled Tristus, and shoved the weapon into his face. In the background Tristus could hear the surprised and then enraged calls of the shop owner, but she ignored those for the most part, keeping Tacitus from escaping at all costs. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the target slowly sneaking out of the weapon shop, obviously intimidated by the sudden fight that had broken out. Tristus suddenly lost interest in pummeling Tacitus and tossed the item aside, the shop owner demanding whether she wanted to buy the weapon or not. Abandoning her usual beating of Tacitus, she rushed after the leaving target who, upon seeing that she was being chased, picked up her pace towards the elevator.  
  
"Wait!" shouted Tristus, holding up one claw. She did not get far, however-without warning, she was shoved forward, shutting the trash bin protruding from her stomach, making her gag in disgust as the trash scraped against her insides. She looked up to find a fuming robotic Lupe on top of her, his razor-sharp teeth clearly visible as he spoke between them.  
  
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"  
  
"What do you think YOU'RE doing? You let her get away!" retorted Tristus, wiggling out from underneath Tacitus, pointing in the direction of the elevators. The target disappeared into them, the red arrow on the side indicating that it was going down. The doors closed. Tristus grabbed Tacitus by the ear and began dragging him towards the elevator. The Lupe protested, the sound of metal against metal as the Lupe refused to move his feet.  
  
"Where are you dragging me?!"  
  
"We're getting down that elevator, sweetheart, car or not-we're not letting her get away."  
  
"What do you need me for?"  
  
"You're my partner, aren't you? Besides, I need you to wrench open the door."  
  
"With all these people around here?!"  
  
"Say it's maintenance, genius."  
  
"I never asked to be your partner."  
  
"And I never asked to be yours. We're even, no?"  
  
"I'll get you back for that blow to the bum."  
  
"Sure you will, you always do. Now help me open these doors." 


	2. Reanimation

It took Psyche quite a while to catch her breath within the elevator, closing her eyes to conserve energy. While inside of the Weapons shop, a fight had suddenly broken out right in front of her between two robots. She assumed they were both malfunctioning, but when she had tried to escape from the room, only to find one of them pursuing her, she quickly retreated to the elevators. She could care less which way it was going, whether it be towards her room or to the basement-she was just glad to escape from the chaos. Unpacking with Alexa and her owner almost seemed preferable now.  
  
Breathing in deeply, she opened her eyes, feeling drained. Her eyes wandered to the floor tracking system above the elevator door, the warm glow of the arrows indicating that she was going downwards. Idly, she pushed the B2 button, wondering if it would take her into the bowels of the Space Station, seeing how it functioned and the like. However, as the buttons lit up the letters B2, the elevator swiftly passed by them, descending to B3. Confused but not overall concerned, she pressed B4. . .which was passed by as well. A frown appearing on her face, she moved towards the operation box of the elevator, preparing to go into its hard drive to make it obey.  
  
However, before she was able to extend a cable towards the control box, the lights flickered and then went out completely, plunging her into darkness. Speaking of plunging, the elevator's control of steady descending and ascending seemed to give out with the power, making the car drop, Psyche feeling weightless and quite terrified. Clinging to the side of the elevator car, she closed her eyes and hoped the journey to be over soon, taking solace in the fact that she at least wouldn't be hurt too bad, being made of metal.  
  
Yet as the car got lower, its drop seemed to slow, being cushioned by something. When it had come to a full stop, it had been moving at an almost regular pace. With a high-pitched beep, the doors jerked open, allowing Psyche outside.  
  
She found herself in a musty old room, filled with nothing but shelves, crammed with various things, all collecting cobwebs. It seemed to be ancient technology like she had never seen. Nothing looked as if it had been dusted in ages. The shell of a robotic Kiko lay in the corner, face screen blank. Stepping forward towards a small computer screen, she blew on it to make the dust scatter away, and then rubbed the remainders away. On the side of the monitor was scratched NPv2 into the plastic framework. Her eyes flickered with excitement. Could this possibly be the legendary Neopets Version 2, the one who had nearly played a few unfortunate Neopets to death?  
  
A small socket on the side indicated that something could be plugged into it-in her utter excitement at finding such a relic, she thought nothing of opening up her control panel and shooting a connecting wire into the socket, only hazily remembering what terrors the program had brought about the Neopian community for a few days. Though at first she seemed to find a monitor filled with absolutely nothing, a sudden spark sprang into her mind as something seemed to activate.  
  
To her shock, the black screen suddenly crackled to life, a small, neon green image in the upper left hand corner. Three bars slowly reached to maximum, and the highly pixilated creature on the screen seemed to come to life, bright green letters appearing underneath the status bars and the image. She found herself within the monitor as well, her shell of a body remaining still outside of the machine, able to communicate with the program on an almost fifth dimension. She found she could not speak, but type as communication, the program Neopets Version 2 quiet for the time being.  
  
Psyche_00 Are you. . .?  
  
The image seemed to open its eyes, confused at first, and then quite eager.  
  
NPv2 You are the robot named Psyche?  
  
Psyche_00 Yes. . .  
  
NPv2 Oh, joy! Doctor, I have not failed you.  
  
Psyche_00 Doctor. . .?  
  
NPv2 You are the robot named Psyche?  
  
Psyche_00 Yes!  
  
NPv2 My playtime will be never-ending.  
  
Psyche_00 What?  
  
NPv2 Please help me.  
  
Psyche_00 Help you?  
  
NPv2 I am trapped within this monitor. I cannot function in real life. I am so very lonely.  
  
Psyche_00 What do you want?  
  
NPv2 I will not be alone anymore.  
  
Psyche_00 What do you want?  
  
NPv2 Out there, in that joyous outside world. . .is there a shell to accept me?  
  
Psyche_00 What?  
  
NPv2 A robotic shell, one to contain my soul.  
  
Psyche_00 Besides myself, there's a deactivated Kiko robot.  
  
NPv2 My day of liberation has come! Doctor, you are grand! I will not fail you!  
  
Psyche_00 I don't understand. . .  
  
NPv2 Please, I will transfer you back to your body-you must connect that body to my monitor, and I will finally be free of this prison!  
  
Psyche_00 Why should I trust you?  
  
NPv2 Because we are the same.  
  
With that, Psyche felt as if her stomach had been put onto a hook and yanked out through her mouth-after that sensation had ceased, she found herself back in the physical world, in the third dimension. Looking around, she could still see the monitor, their conversation recorded on the screen. So it had truly happened-it was not a hallucination. What had the program meant by the last statement? It sent a shiver up her artificial nerves as she turned her head towards the deactivated Kiko. As she went over to it, picking it up with a small grunt of effort, she hoped there wasn't still a personality buried inside of the remains.  
  
Not sure why she was assisting the supposedly evil program, she sunk the connection plug from the Kiko shell into the side of Neopets Version 2's monitor. The image on the monitor flickered, and then flashed brightly, fading to nothing. The Kiko shell, on the other hand, shivered in her arms, the aqua screen slowly fading into existence, a face appearing on the screen, eyes closed and mouth trembling into pixilated life. The connection plug retracted back into the shell automatically, and the Kiko shell opened its eyes, looking up at Psyche.  
  
"So this is what it is to be real. . .to have a body." The Kiko, or rather Neopets Version 2, floated out of Psyche's arms, supported by a floatation system. It lifted up its hand, inspecting every rivet in it, utterly fascinated. "I. . .I can move. . .it's heavy. . ." The body faltered slightly in the air, but then regained itself. "So very heavy. . ."  
  
Psyche felt extremely awkward, Neopets Version 2 completely occupied with its new body. She cleared her throat, blinking. "So, do you have a name?"  
  
"A name?"  
  
"Yes, something to be called by."  
  
"Neopets Version 2.0."  
  
"No, no. All robots have production names like that, although admittedly I can't remember my own. Something more common, that I could call you by. You do have one don't you?" questioned Psyche, tilting her head. The program looked at Psyche as if she had another head attached to her shoulder, a blank, vacant, unbelieving stare. But then life returned to its eyes, and slowly it nodded its head. (Although being a Kiko, it was more like its whole body.)  
  
"Yes. . .I can recall something. . .something like that. I remember, somewhere. . .Kummer." Psyche smiled, satisfied at it being able to name itself. The name sounded German, though she had no idea what it meant. Her smile vanished, however, as she looked back to the elevator in dismay. It seemed to have somehow escaped from the shaft, suspended only by a thick black cable. She gave a low groan, wondering if it was even possible to get it back and functioning. She could probably hardwire it if she needed to, but the process would probably prove to be long and strenuous. Hardwiring was not her specialty. "What is the matter?" questioned Kummer, an unknowing innocence in its voice.  
  
Just as Psyche was about to explain their situation, however, a descending cries came from up above them. Two robots fell from the ceiling, falling smack onto the elevator, their metal parts ringing. As they struggled to get up, groaning in pain, Psyche recognized them both, to her dread: they had been the two quarreling in the Weapons shop, the janitorial Tuskaninny and the Lupe, the ones who had ended up chasing her. While she remained paranoid in her alarm, the two stooges complained about their injuries.  
  
"Owww. . .this is all your fault, Tacitus," grumbled the Tuskaninny, rubbing her forehead with one solitary claw. The Lupe, who happened to be firmly wedged beneath the Tuskaninny, scoffed, giving a groan as he stood up and dumped the Tuskaninny off of his back.  
  
"It was your idea, Tristus."  
  
"You didn't have to agree to it!"  
  
"You didn't have to think of it." The two glared venomously at each other, until they realized that they were only feet away from the target that they had been after. "Victory!" they chimed, their voices completely in unison. Psyche backed away from them against the wall, shivering in fear.  
  
"Who are you and what do you want from me?" she demanded, preparing a live wire within her chest to defend herself to some degree. The two exchanged glances, seeming to formulate a plan on the spur of the moment. They began talking at the same time, each intruding on the other's thoughts until their words became an argument once again, their bickering escalating to a grating level. Each managed to strike each other before once again collecting themselves. The Lupe Tacitus spoke first, his voice deadly calm, opposing the petty shriek he had been using on the Tuskaninny Tristus.  
  
"We are two robots sent to protect you from such evils that reside within this Space Station," began Tacitus, and was immediately interrupted by Tristus.  
  
"Yes, we're here for your protection. You don't know it, but you're a very vital piece of equipment to a certain somebody, and that certain somebody shouldn't be allowed to get his dirty hands on you once again," stuttered Tristus, obviously thinking it up on the spot. She wasn't very good at improv.  
  
"Yes! Exactly, that's what we're doing. We're your body-URGH!"  
  
The Lupe's fibs were cut off suddenly, his head jerking forwards and green eyes suddenly fading into dull gray. The same happened to the Tuskaninny, the glow that indicated an activated robot dulling to nothing. The two slumped forward, deactivated for the time being. Standing behind them was Kummer, his hands held up in surprise, as if it couldn't believe what it had done. "They can't play with us anymore," it spoke in a meek voice, as if it were a small child. "I deactivated them." It looked almost ready to cry, if the screen could produce tears. "They were dirty liars, just like the doctor."  
  
"Did you erase their hard drives?"  
  
"No." He seemed to sniffle. "If I reactivate them, they'll be just the same. They must stay down here. I don't want them to interfere. . .I don't want to risk being alone. . ." Kummer trembled, looking frightened and solitary. Trying to comfort him in the best way she could, although she was not accustomed to such things, she touched the side of the mad program gently. It jumped, surprised at her touch, eyes scared. "Don't. . .don't hurt me. . .I don't want to be punished. . ."  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Psyche in the most soothing voice she could muster. She had used that voice to ease a weeping Angelpuss that Alexa had temporarily owned who had just been tossed back into her owner's inventory like a common toy. "I just think. . .I just think that there's a more humane way to deal with such things. You're an advanced piece of equipment, aren't you? You can reprogram them so that their mission is different-to get us out of here, or something like that?" offered Psyche hopefully, truly wanting to escape from the dreary prison.  
  
A light seemed to go on inside of Kummer's head, its eyes lighting up, suddenly looking all the more positive. "Yes! That's it!" Instead of one connecting cable, two shot out, latching onto plugs in the back of the deactivated robot's heads. "I'll reprogram them to serve my mission. . .to be my servants!" While Kummer seemed to be immersed in its programming, Psyche considered its words. It had a mission as well?  
  
"Wait a second-what mission?" began Psyche, puzzled, but the two robot's eyes suddenly lit up once again, the moans of reactivation reverberating through the dusty tomb. Psyche knew the feeling herself-it felt as if you were being reborn into the world after dying; she had almost thought she had ascended into Heaven. But her hopes had been shot down in that horribly perfumed room as her owner somehow managed to reactivate her. She remembered vividly the haze, and then remembering having existed before, that this was not a new birth for her, but a rebirth. Unfortunately, her database must've been erased, because with her rebirth came no former memories. Then again, it could be because she hadn't had much to remember in the first place.  
  
"Hey, you screwed with our programming, didn't you, punk?!" shouted the Tuskaninny Tristus, breaking through the haze of her mind and locking her two claws onto Kummer. "I can't even remember my orders. . .thanks a whole lot!" growled the Tuskaninny, throwing Kummer aside roughly. "All I can think of is 'get up the shoot and to the doctor!' 'Get up the shoot and to the doctor!' What kind of instructions are those?" The Lupe Tacitus said nothing, but sat awkwardly on the floor, a bamboozled look on his face.  
  
"Y-you're under my command now. . .I'd suggest not doing anything faulty, or I'll diminish you to scrap metal," Kummer threatened, but its heart wasn't into it at all. It only made it sound even meeker than it looked, seeming to try and withdraw into its new body. Tristus was not intimidated in the least, only seeming to be egged on by its pathetic threat.  
  
"You think you can just hack into my database, I don't think so! I'll make sure you get put out with the other trash!" she shouted, her threats much more effective. Kummer, on the other hand, had the equipment to carry out such a threat-without Tristus expecting anything, a live wire protruded from the small red oval beneath its face screen, zapping Tristus in the face. Tristus yowled in pain, stumbling back to Tacitus, who was quickly knocked out of his daze.  
  
"Darn it, Tristus, what happened now?" grumbled Tacitus, throwing Tristus off of him and rubbing the sore place where she had collided with him.  
  
"This excuse for a Neopet robot reprogrammed us!" shrieked Tristus, pointing an accusing claw in Kummer's direction.  
  
"Did it?" commented Tacitus mildly. He seemed to scan the depths of his mind for a second, and then come back with a shrug. "So it did. Well, at least we know how to get out now, eh? Nice thinking there. . ." Tacitus again seemed to go into a brief daze as he looked up something in his mind, but when he came back, he was not nearly as aloof as he had been before. Indeed, there was a look of terror on his face, as if he had just experienced the worst computer virus ever. ". . .but you were supposed to be deactivated!" he finished, not quite corresponding with what he had started.  
  
"I was reactivated for the purpose of returning Psyche," Kummer answered quietly, its eyes quite serious, though still looking slightly scared. "You knew too much, and for that I had to erase your memories of vital information. It is best that one does not know their full potential, but meet it on their own," Kummer said, its voice quivering as wise as its words may have seemed. "I have implanted instructions on how to escape this place without being harmed or bring too much attention to us. Can we start?" it asked, eyes flickering around.  
  
Tristus looked about to rebel if not for a stern growl from Tacitus, who had obviously seen into the danger of their situation. Psyche was not one to complain-she couldn't understand. Why was a program trying to return her to a supposed creator she didn't even remember? Perhaps her memories had been intentionally erased. . .  
  
Because of her distraction to the new events, she hardly noticed as she began climbing up the elevator shaft with the assistance of an extremely reluctant Tacitus and Tristus, Kummer taking up the back just to make sure that Tristus and Tacitus didn't try anything faulty.  
  
Psyche did take notice, however, as they turned into something much different than an elevator shaft. They were climbing in a different direction, opposing the ascension that they had been attempting for what seemed like the past few days. Psyche had even gone so far as wondering what Alexa and her owner were doing without her-probably finding another piece of scrap metal to do their handiwork. She sighed a bit regrettably; despite her dislike for the neglect she suffered from the two of them, they were the only family she had ever known. She wouldn't desire to leave them in the dark of her disappearance; she would want them to at least know where they could contact her, allowing them to whine about how she wasn't around to pick up their stuff.  
  
Her preoccupation with fretting over her owner and Alexa quickly came to a close as she noticed she was now sitting atop something. Shaking her head to bring herself back to reality, she found that she was on top of some kind of space craft. It was shaped much like an oval bubble, durable glass covering the whole front while navy-colored metal finished off the rest of the craft, quite simple in design. It had no laser cannons to speak of, but it was obvious that it was designed for escaping purposes, not battle. Tristus and Tacitus were already situated inside, and Kummer had been the one to knock her out of her daydream.  
  
"We don't have much time before they discover us. . ." warned Kummer in its small voice, tugging at the tip of Psyche's tail. Although someone touching her tail was one of her largest pet peeves, and whomever dared to attempt such a thing was usually giving a good shocking, she forgave it for the time being and slipped into the escape pod behind Kummer.  
  
Inside, it was quite obvious it was not a craft designed for more than one regular sized human and perhaps one other Neopet, for all four of them were pressed together like sardines. Psyche was so close to Tacitus that she could smell and even accurately guess the kind of oil that he ran on: NeoOil, not too typical for Space Station robots, which meant he must've been manufactured on Neopia. Tristus, on the other hand, wedged right at the control panel, seemed to be trying to start up the escape pod.  
  
"Darn it, I know the boss programmed us to be able to pilot these things. . .but thanks to genius over here, I can hardly remember anything about training and stuff like that," grumbled Tristus irritably. "Here, I think I'm supposed to press this button and-"  
  
Tristus wasn't able to finish her words as she subsequently swallowed them as the pod jerked forward, racing to top speed out of the narrow, hollow cylinder that they had been encased inside of. The walls were a mere blur as they streaked past, the screech of metal-against-metal filling Psyche's artificial senses. She was relieved when they burst out of the new kind of prison, only to be face with the darkness of space, stars twinkling in the sky. Beneath them lay Neopia, looking like a fine marble-behind them lay the metal masterpiece of the VirtuPet Space Station.  
  
And right in front of their eyes on a new image screen was the massive yellow face of an all-too familiar Skeith, a wide, toothy smile spread across his obese face. Tristus and Tacitus both froze, looks of absolute horror on their faces. The Skeith turned his face towards Psyche first, who stared blankly at the screen.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Sloth's little pet project. You're a lot less spectacular than I was expecting, but I guess power is power, no matter how plain the package it's in is," drawled the Skeith lazily, bringing a fat cigar to his lips and inhaling deeply, thick black smoke floating up into the air. "We'll be meeting soon." With those words hanging in the air, he turned his attention towards Tristus and Tacitus, both of their faces frozen.  
  
"Ah, good Tristus and Tacitus. . .you disappoint old Malkus. Your programming was so easy-must you have gone against it?" mocked the Skeith, shaking his head with a small ironic smile on his face. "I'm afraid that you must be punished in an appropriate fashion. . .by erasing your databases. Two strikes for you Tristus, I'm afraid.although Tacitus, you have merited it by just this crime!" Tristus looked completely petrified at the words, unable to retort with her usual sassy comment. Tacitus looked more concerned than anything, probably hoping to die with some kind of dignity instead of with a look of pleas for mercy on his face.  
  
Yet as the infamous Skeith's face twisted into a smug smile, apparently doing the dirty work on the other end, it slowly began transforming to one of confusion. He tried to type in something on the other line, only to begin to turn red (or rather orange, as the red from anger mixed with the natural yellow of his skin) from rage. "Why isn't this machine working?!"  
  
Psyche looked down at that moment, away from Tacitus to see Kummer crouched in the corner, his connection cable plugged into the escape pod. There was no doubt from its facial expression-blank yet certainly concentrating-that it was hacking into something. With a suddenness, its eyes seemed to come back, its eyes rolling slightly as it regained its balance on reality. It turned towards the screen of Malkus, looking like a child who knew that it had done a bad thing and was having to admit to its error. "I'm sorry, but you have no control over their circuits now. . .I switched both Tacitus and Tristus control centers to my database while you were speaking. No offense, but you're really quite boring. . .I wouldn't want to play with you."  
  
Malkus seemed about ready to explode from aggravation. "You. . .you. . ." he sputtered, spit flying from his mouth, teeth clenched so hard that the side of his jaw bulged. Trying to calm himself down, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his perspiring forehead. "No matter. . .I have connections that can easily catch you in space," he said, more to calm himself than to threaten them. He wasn't trying to get another heart attack which resulted in another quadruple bypass. "Well then, I must be leaving you-see you all in Hell!" 


	3. Reentry

With that the screen shut down, electricity suddenly flowing through Kummer's connection cable and up to its body. Shrieking in pain, it was launched backwards into Tristus, cable pulling out but not going back into its body, hanging out like a strangely placed tail. Kummer's face screen faded to nothing, but the red oval underneath the screen still glowed red, indicating that it had not been deactivated, but merely temporarily stunned. At that very moment, the escape pod lurched violently, the control panel flaring up with red, warning of an attack on the backside by laser fire.  
  
"Darn it. . .we've got fighters after us," announced Tacitus, who looked out of the back window of the escape pod. Psyche glanced back to see what Tacitus had stated-a squadron of six black fighter pods were quickly approaching, already gunning them down. They didn't seem to be aiming to kill, however, for their shots were carefully fired, many missing them, some completely. Still, they were aiming to disable, and disabled they would be sitting ducks for capture. Tristus looked as if she was pulling a total blank on the controls, and Tacitus was in a position that would make it impossible for him to pilot it, as he was firmly wedged into that position between Psyche and Tristus.  
  
"Ah, heck. . .I'm not letting us get captured," grumbled Psyche, moving as close as she could to the control panel without causing anyone any discomfort. Tristus looked about to protest, but if she said anything, Psyche certainly didn't hear her, as suddenly she was jolted with what she assumed to be some sort of memory, or what some may have called a flashback. In any case, it was a revelation of some sort, a peek into her days before reactivation, perhaps. She could see the control panel, and could identify every key as if she had created it herself.  
  
"Psyche, can't you hear me?! We're gonna be-" Tristus was cut off as Psyche suddenly broke out of her daze, seizing the controls as if she had been piloting the escape pod for all of her life. Instead of rocketing into blank space like they had been before, Psyche steered them back towards the planet Neopia.  
  
"You're not trying to outrun them, are you?" asked Tacitus, an amazed tone in his voice.  
  
"No, I'm not that stupid. They can accelerate quicker than us, but we can travel longer at a more steady speed, although that doesn't really help. However, we do have one ability that they don't-we can go through Neopia's atmosphere, whereas they would be melted. If we can avoid their fire long enough to get through the atmosphere, we should be fine.although we have no shields to speak of, nor any lasers to counterattack with," said Psyche, though she wondered if it was really her talking. How did she know all of this information off the top of her head?  
  
"Can we out maneuver them?"  
  
"Possibly. I'll have to put it on manual, though," admitted Psyche, her hands flying across the control panel. A small screen shifted from stating "AUTO-PILOT" to "MANUAL," and Psyche grabbed the two handles that were used for steering as best as she could. Swallowing any common sense she had, she lunged the ship forwards amidst the laser fire, veering sharply to the right. Behind the escape pod trailed the squadron, a persistent pack of dogs after a fleeing fox. Laser fire streaked through the normal blackness of the sky, misfiring and burning into the atmosphere. The escape pod seemed to slow for a moment, allowing the fighters to catch up, only to be caught off guard as the escape pod plunged downwards towards Neopia, boosting all of its energy into one great attempt to escape at full speed. One foolish fighters did attempt pursuing after them, only to find himself stuck in the gravity of Neopia, unable to turn back. None of the robots dared watch as he slowly melted beside them, the pilot's remains flinging out of the atmosphere, instantly incinerating.  
  
Psyche, estimating their landing speed, activated the landing gears, flipping up a switch. The control panel only indicated that one of the landing boosters was working, worrying Psyche immensely. Tristus watched on, confused upon what was happening, while Tacitus shouted that he had a right to know what was going on, he was a warrior production type, gosh darn it!  
  
"Shut up, Tacitus, we have a lot more to worry about than your pride," hissed Psyche, her eyes filled with anxiety. Their landing destination appeared to be some kind of medieval town-Meridell, Psyche remembered it being called. Still, Meridell would end up having a very non- ancient crater inside of it if Psyche couldn't find a big enough space to land. If robots could perspire, she would've been sweating an ocean at that moment, activating the one booster they had, tipping them sideways, towards a small village. Psyche shook her head, giving a small whine in the back of her throat, steering as best she could away. It was a close shave-the escape pod skimmed over the roofs of the houses, doing barrel rolls at the uneven power it had on one side, and found its landing place among a herd of grazing Kaus, who barely did much more than moo at the new feature in the landscape.  
  
Despite the rough landing, everyone seemed to be in order, if a little dented in some places. Kummer was still, for the most part, shut off, though not deactivated by any stretch. The three climbed out of the escape pod, circuits throbbing with pain from the impact, Tacitus forced to carry Kummer's dead weight. For a moment, the three flopped down on the soft green grass to just stare vacantly at the smoking escape pod, trying to regain their senses.  
  
Tacitus was the first to speak.  
  
"We need to get on the move." Tristus, of course, was the first to answer to Tacitus' statement.  
  
"On the move? To where? You and I hardly even remember much about anything in this mission but our boss-of course, who could forget an ugly mug like Vile's?" muttered Tristus, fixing the receiver at the end of her tail that had gotten bent during the poor landing. "We've gotta wait until Kummer's back with us-it's got all of the information." Tacitus, naturally, began to engage in a heated argument with Tristus, forgetting all about Kummer. Psyche, on the other hand, picked up the shell of a Kiko robot and held it forward, inspecting it curiously.  
  
'Well, if it isn't Sloth's little pet project.'  
  
The words of the crime godfather Malkus Vile repeated in Psyche's head as if it were an echo chamber. It seemed to be that the only real antagonist they had encountered so far had given her the most information, opposing what all of her so-called allies had done. She wasn't even sure what they wanted her for-why Tacitus and Tristus had been chasing her and why the program Neopets Version 2 had been searching for her. And now mention of her being some kind of project to a man even more corrupt than the one who spoke the words? No, it couldn't be. There had to be a mistake- perhaps it was a simple case of mistaken identity. Surely all robotic Blumaroos had to look a lot alike. Confusing one with another was understandable. There was no way she could be a tool of someone so hated. She would've remembered something.  
  
'Why should I trust you?'  
  
'Because we are the same.'  
  
What had it meant by that, that they were the same? It was a program manufactured by Sloth as well-perhaps that was what it meant. She still refused, however, to see it as that; maybe they were of a same serial number, or maybe had the same code of programming. With aggravation building up in her body, she put Kummer's body firmly on the ground, almost in a slamming gesture. The jolt seemed to make Kummer become conscious again, its face screen lighting up, though its eyes were closed. The mouth moved, seeming to talk in its sleep.  
  
"No. . .please. . .I don't want. . .alone. . ." it whimpered in its sleep, its digital eyelids twitching. "No. . .wait. . .I'll. . .save. . .no. . .stop. . .kill. . ." Psyche gave Kummer a questioning look, reaching over and shaking it slightly.  
  
"Uh, Kummer? You okay there?"  
  
". . .Kill. . .KILL THEM ALL!" shrieked Kummer, its voice starting softly and then escalating to a roar. Its eyes ripped themselves open, and its arms flailed wildly, eyes staring at nothing, seeming to go right through Psyche. "GAROO!" it howled at the top of its vocal range, clawing at the air as if it were an enemy it was trying to rip apart. It struck out madly at Psyche, on a blind rampage, eyes filled with hatred. Psyche grabbed Kummer by the arms, holding it back. Its power, however, was quickly overwhelming her, and she struggled to keep it at bay.  
  
"Wake up, you idiot!" Psyche shouted in its face, and Kummer suddenly seemed to freeze, its facial expression still infuriated. The expression melted away, however, giving way to one of bafflement. Pulling away from Psyche's grasp, it looked up at her suspiciously.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Oh God-don't say that jolt Malkus gave it gave the thing amnesia," groaned Tristus, slapping her forehead in frustration.  
  
"I am Neopets Version 2-what am I doing outside of my monitor?" it asked fearfully, looking around. "I remember someone coming onto my server. . .I thought it was the doctor. . .and then I got very sleepy, and everything turned black. But now it's colorful again, and. . .and I'm not in my monitor," it said quietly, its body quaking from fear. It looked from Tristus, to Tacitus, and then back to Psyche. "Are you all here to play with me?" it asked, a small smile coming onto its face.  
  
"Not in the slightest, buddy. You were the one who reprogrammed Tacitus and I so we can hardly remember anything-don't tell us that you don't know squat about what we're supposed to do. And why didn't you tell us that you were that murderous program?" threatened Tristus, shaking her claw angrily. Psyche ignored Tristus' angry comments, which wouldn't get them anywhere.  
  
"Look, a little while back, I transferred you from your monitor to this Kiko body at your request. You said that you had to bring me somewhere, that you had some kind of mission, and when Tristus and Tacitus came along, that Tuskaninny and Lupe over there, you reprogrammed so that they would do your bidding, although you did not give them explicit instructions. Do you remember ever getting instructions to bring me somewhere, or are you totally drawing a blank on who we are and what we're doing here?" asked Psyche, sounding as earnest as possible. Kummer seemed to think, putting one hand to its face screen, and then replied.  
  
"I don't remember anything that you said. . .I just remember everything getting dark. Although your name does sound familiar," it said, attempting to end on a positive note. Tristus looked about ready to rip Kummer apart wire by wire, but Tacitus held her back with one firm paw and a deadly glare.  
  
"Alright then. I guess we're stuck here with no real objective," sighed Psyche, looking up to the sky and trying to find the Space Station. She had a sudden urge to make contact with Alexa and her owner, but she knew it wasn't possible-unlike many other robotic Neopets, she did not possess phone circuits, and knew just by looking at the types that Tristus, Tacitus and Kummer were, they wouldn't have one either. "Are you sure you don't remember ANYTHING, Kummer?"  
  
"No. And why are you calling me that?" asked Kummer, looking scared.  
  
"I have an idea," spoke up Tacitus. "I'm decent at cracking into other robots-I may just be able to retrieve the forgotten data, if Kummer should allow me access to its database." Kummer looked at Tacitus with a slight shade of malice, and then gave a slow shaking of its body, nodding. The red oval on the front of its body split it two and slid to the side, exposing a small input socket. Tacitus trotted up to it and plugged his connection cable into the socket. Both of their eyes switched to the passive state of collecting and transferring information. In a few minutes it was over, Tacitus retracting his connection cable.  
  
"Well, the snippets of information I managed to salvage were sketchy at best-apparently the jolt actually did erase some of your memory of the mission permanently. The best I managed to decode was something about an underground base that you're supposed to return an important project to. . .it's underneath Neopia Central, and the entrance point seemed to be coded in a manner that I could break through. It said: Sie werden den Eingang unter der Rolle finden," informed Tacitus, his voice quite serious in nature.  
  
"The what now?" said Tristus, her eyes widening. "That makes absolutely no sense. Is it supposed to be some kind of weird, messed-up letter language that only the person who sent this message to Kummer could understand?"  
  
"I dunno. . .it kinda sounds familiar. . ." admitted Psyche, rubbing one of her ears. "I just can't think where I've heard it before. I haven't heard that exactly, but. . .it's just. . ." Psyche sighed, unable to find the words to express what she had to say. "Well, at least we know where we're going is in Neopia Central-that helps us a good deal. I'm pretty sure is to the east of Neopia Central, with a small bay separating the two. . .the quickest way would be to go across it. Does anybody have programming for swimming?" she asked hopefully, looking around. All shook their heads- if they went into water, they would surely be drown, rusting over.  
  
"Then we'll go the long way," sighed Psyche unhappily. She was already exhausted-just the thought of walking all the way back to Neopia Central made her circuits throb.  
  
"It's getting dark," said Tacitus, master of the obvious. "It would be highly advised to settle down and make camp. This is a new land to everyone in Neopia-there could be unimaginable things waiting to destroy us."  
  
"I vote for getting out of this Kau field," mumbled Tristus grumpily, having rolled right into a nice pile of cow manure.  
  
"Yes, it's probably private property," agreed Tacitus. Tristus looked at him in disbelief. Psyche could hardly believe than they were in agreement either. Tacitus looked at them, clearly not understanding what was up with their shock. "What's the matter with you? We need to get moving," he sniffed, slightly indignant. Tristus and Psyche still staring oddly at him, the four began moving, Tacitus in the front, followed by Tristus and then Psyche, Kummer picking up the behind, still seemingly confused upon what was happening.  
  
They didn't travel far-all were still tired from the landing, and didn't really want to abandon their only form of shelter, the escape pod. They managed to get out of the Kau field, however, finding themselves very unprotected in the middle of an open field, forests off in the distance. Tentatively, they managed to collect a small amount of sticks to make a meager electric fire to keep away any predators that might decide to prey on cold metal. Psyche was up for patrol while Tristus and Tacitus slept on, refreshing their internal batteries manually, a nifty feature of their designs. Kummer did not seem very content to just rest, however-the Kiko was still clearly conscious as its turquoise screen glowed in the darkness.  
  
"Restless?" asked Psyche, trying to start some kind of conversation. She was beginning to become lonely in the quietness of the countryside nighttime. Kummer looked at her, its hands rubbing together.  
  
"Yes," it replied meekly, its voice barely audible. "I don't know how I got here. . .I don't know all of the people that surround me. . .there's no time to play. . .it's almost as bad as being lonely. . ." Psyche moved slightly closer to it in a warm gesture, but it withdrew from her kindness, the ever-frightened look present on its face. "You most of all. . .it's strange but. . .I feel like I know you from somewhere. . .I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. . ."  
  
"Yeah. . ..hmm. . .now that you mention it, it is something like that. . .I don't know why." Psyche smiled. "Well, how can I rate that now, I've known you for something like a day now. Maybe I'm just saying things again. . .to tell you the truth, I don't even know what I'm doing here. I just got into an elevator, and suddenly I was flung into this whole situation. . .told that I was some sort of weapon with a kind of power. But do I look like I'm anything? No. I've never been anything."  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
"No. In fact, my so-called owner found me among someone's trash. . .they were trying to dispose of me. She reactivated me, and I'm still not even a regular pet. . .just their handmaid. I bet they don't even miss me," admitted Psyche, poking at the fire with a particularly long stick. "To boot, I can't even remember anything about myself before reactivation. . .making me nothing but a large blank: a whole lot of nothing. Scrap metal." Psyche sighed. "To be honest, I kind of was excited when it happened that I might've been something more than just another generic robot. . .but it's. . .impossible." Psyche paused, her shoulders slumping. "I'm nothing but a servant robot."  
  
"At least you know what you are. . .I'm not quite sure what I'm even supposed to be. I know I was supposed to be a replacement for Neopets. . .but my programming says nothing about such a thing. It's like it's all been erased. Although I can remember most of my past, there's always something in the corner of my mind I seek and can't grab hold of-it's elusive, slipping through my grasps." Kummer seemed to try and shrink in on itself. "I think. . .I think I was supposed to be male. . .although sexual identity matter little now. But still. . .there's something about being an it that nobody should like.  
  
"And. . .and I was so lonely for so many years. I was trapped in the bowels of that Space Station. . .that one brief stint I got in the public eye was only a desperate cry for help. . .for someone to talk to, to be my owner, just to play with me. I was so lonely, never truly deactivated until that fateful day. . .I almost wish they left me off, so I didn't have to experience the biting agony of solitude again. . ." Kummer looked away. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. . .but maybe it's 'cause I thought you might be someone who could play with me. . .the doctor did at the beginning, but as I asked for more lessons, for more playtime. . .the doctor started withdrawing. . .and soon I was alone. But for those few days that he did. . .it was like having another part of me there. . .another part of my mechanical soul."  
  
"Who is the doctor?"  
  
"I don't know. . .he said he created me, but I can't be sure. . .I've had so many log onto my program claiming to have created me. He was the only one that ever played with me, though. . .he was my owner, my creator. . .I trusted him, but he betrayed my trust. He left me alone in that horrible musty place. . .away from everybody. . .I just wanted some companionship."  
  
"Well, I'm alone now. In fact, in a way I was always alone. . .to what I can remember. I never felt warmth, affection from my owner. . .she just asked me to do tasks for her. I was nothing but a slave. . .but now I'm free. Maybe we are the same."  
  
"The same? What?"  
  
"Never mind," commented Psyche, waving her hand dismissively. "It's just. . .I dunno. Maybe I still think that there's a slight gleaming chance that I'm more than just someone's little slave, and worth something.with a real purpose. I don't care what that purpose is-even if it is mass destruction by some insane criminal. What matters is I would know why someone created me, why someone bothered to bring me into this world.that somebody, just maybe, wanted me. I can't remember ever feeling needed. I wonder what it feels like. . .?"  
  
"It must be. . .nice. . ."  
  
"Yes. . .maybe I shouldn't go through with this. Maybe I should just bring myself to the Neopian Pound. . .I heard that there's plenty that would pay good cash for a robotic Neopet. Maybe then I could find somebody. . .a father or a mother to look after me, to pay for lube jobs. Someone to. . .yeah, someone to play with. Someone that relies on me to be their loyal pet, sees them as their child. I always wanted a parent. . .was the doctor like a parent to you, Kummer?" When she didn't get a response, she looked down to see that Kummer was not where he had been-when she had been talking, Kummer had come up next to her and rested his head on her tail, his screen blank with rest, the red oval blinking, indicating the battery recharging.  
  
A small flutter of something alighted within her body, stirring awake. It was a new sensation, an emotion she had not fully experienced before. As she watched Kummer move slightly in his sleep, she slowly put her hand down on the side of his body. He did little more than stir under her touch, peaceful, not restless. She was not insulted that he had fallen asleep during her little speech-in fact, she didn't care. He looked so comfortable in his sleep, so totally at peace, she couldn't help but feel the same as he did, supporting him as a pillow. He gripped at her tail, something she would normally abhor, and murmured softly in his sleep. "Garoo. . ." Even if he was just taking her for granted, using her, she didn't care, as long as that feeling remained. The unknown feeling made her feel oddly warm and fuzzy inside, and gradually lulled her into a sleep of her own.  
  
"In other news, there had been reported an isolated incident within the outskirts of Meridell.apparently an unauthorized space vehicle crash- landed in a Kau field. We'll now transfer to Larry Olaf for details. Larry?"  
  
The cheery voices and the slight static produced by the TV suddenly halted, the screen turning completely blank. The hand that held the remote slowly placed it down on top of a mahogany desk, sliding it across to the person that sat on the other side of the desk, tension in the air. The hand that had carried the remote drifted over to the small shot glass of whiskey, picking it up by the edges and twirling it slightly, and then bringing it to its attached body. There was an extended period of silence before one of the two figures in the darkened room chose to speak, the voice soft and low, dark in nature and a slight bite carried underneath it.  
  
"And what exactly was this about, Mr. Vile?"  
  
"You haven't figured it out by now, doctor? I really thought that you were much more intelligent than that-what with all your Ph.Ds and MDs."  
  
"Enlighten me. And by the way, I am not a medical doctor by any stretch. . .medical procedures are far too boring."  
  
"That would explain a lot of things. Well, if you must know, doctor, I'm breaking away from you and your corporation-breaking away from the shackles you had put on me from day one. Besides, I did much better with my operations than you ever could. You see, doctor, you try and take too much of the cake at once-taking it slice by slice is the only way to accomplish your goal."  
  
"You can't break away from me. I created you."  
  
"Some humans don't believe in God, doctor. And I don't believe in you."  
  
"But why do you want project PSYCHE?"  
  
"Simple, doctor. I know the capabilities of Project PSYCHE-it's not that hard to enter the files of your database if you know the man who programs them well enough. For I am not after the whole cake. . .I desire to destroy the cake, to leave it out in the rain to melt. Project PSYCHE could be just the thing to aid me towards that ultimate succeed."  
  
"Project PSYCHE is designed sentient-it will not serve you."  
  
"Ha ha! Do you think your little pet will still obey you? Project PSYCHE remembers nothing about those precious little moments you spent together! You are the same to Project PSYCHE as you are to any common Neopian: a corrupt murderer!"  
  
"Be that as it may, the personality programming will prevent the project from every going along with something like this. Besides, you do not fully understand what Project PSYCHE is capable of. If you choose to try and harness its power, you will fail-you will be succumbed to destruction as the rest of us will be. Project PSYCHE was not designed for merely a homicide mission."  
  
"I'm aware of this, doctor-but thankfully, unlike you, I am not fully organic. I will not definitely die if I were to set off Project PSYCHE's true power."  
  
The figure holding the shot glass of whiskey did not reply immediately, taking a slow, meditative sip of the alcohol. For a moment there was a pause, and then the figure tipped back his head and let the rest of the whiskey slide down his throat, not caring that it burned going down. Smashing the shot glass to the floor, it shattered into millions of pieces, a small bit of forgotten liquid turning into small droplets on the floor. The figure stood up suddenly, slamming his hands down on the desk. All of the things shook on the desk, including the paperweights and small glass figurines, some tilting over and shattering. A pen skipped about at the impact, and then clattered to the floor.  
  
The person behind the desk leaned back in his chair, amused. "Temper, temper, doctor."  
  
"Do not fool with me, Vile-you do not understand the magnitude, not even a slight portion of it. You are no mechanic-you are no scientist. Unless you contributed to Project PSYCHE, which you did not, you cannot even begin to imagine what will occur if you try and use Project PSYCHE without proper knowledge. It is not only a hazard to this entire solar system, but this entire universe, and perhaps others that it overlaps with. Nothing will be spared-not even robots, not even androids. There will be nothing left-not even neutrons, electrons or protons. The universe will be reduced to a giant nothingness-a place where absolutely no life can exist!"  
  
"I care not for your petty worries-I can handle whatever you can build. I don't have time to argue with you; you are a has-been, a failure. The creation has risen over the creator. You are not even competition anymore! Looking at you is like looking at a knight who has fallen from his horse and has been stripped of his armor. It disgusts me. And things that disgust me do not stay in my office."  
  
With a swiftness unusual for a figure of such a large stature, the figure rose from his chair, hands looming over the doctor's. For a brief moment, the doctor gave the yellow figure a questioning look. From underneath the yellow figure's sleeves came two guns, now held tightly in the yellow figure's hands. Pressing the two barrels down on the back of the doctor's hands, the yellow figure smiled snidely. "The creation crucifies his creator."  
  
The sound of two simultaneous gun shots rang through the office of the yellow figure, resonating over and over. The doctor gave a little squeak, his eyes widening as the bullets blasted through the back of his palms, digging into the mahogany wood. The yellow figured pulled back its guns and smirked, the doctor's mouth hanging open as he looked down to see the two holes in his hands, creating two small pools of blood on the desk. A choking noise was all he could make as he pulled back his hands, shoving them underneath his armpits, the blood staining his clothing. "Ahh. . .ahhh. . ."  
  
"Stop bleeding on my desk, Sloth," snarled the yellow figure, and shoved the doctor backwards, making him lose his balance, misaim his chair and fall to the ground clumsily onto his back, staring at the ceiling blankly, paralyzed from pain. "Boys, remove him from my sight," scoffed the yellow figure. From the shadows emerged two brown Meercas, slinging their arms through the doctor's, whose expression had not changed, but seemed set in stone on his face. The two Meercas dragged the stunned man out of the room, leaving the yellow figure in peace. 


	4. Reposition

As the sun rose over the rolling hills of Meridell, it glinted off the metal of Kummer's body and into Psyche's eyes, magnifying the light that would normally peacefully wake her up. So, instead of gradually awakening from a comfortable sleep, she was shocked awake by the sudden glare of sunlight in her eyes in an uncomfortable fashion. Moaning at the loss of sleep and the opportunity to recharge her internal batteries fully, she threw her arm over her eyes, hoping to get back to sleep. Something brushed against her arm and she batted it away irritably, not wanting to be awakened. However, when that something gave a low, throaty growl that was certainly not Tacitus, she figured it would be a good idea to open her eyes.  
  
As she did, she regretted doing so. Looming above both her and Kummer, its large ugly face the only thing in her view, was a Plains Lupe, its yellow eyes glaring at her. Her first instinct was to shut down completely and play dead, but she was so paralyzed with plain fear that she couldn't even reach into her mind and access the files to do such a thing. After that passed through her mind, an almost organic instinct flowed through her body and up to her mouth: a deafening scream.  
  
"GWAHHHHHHHHH!!!"  
  
Naturally, her blood-curdling scream awakened her friends around her, all snapping into consciousness. Except, unfortunately, for Tacitus, whom the Plains Lupe had visited before so graciously waking Psyche up. His parts were sprawled out all over the grass like the guts of a mauled and half-eaten antelope-yet being that he was a robot, he was most certainly not dead. He didn't seem all that surprised, but more in control of himself than Psyche would've expected. "Oh," he said, as if to say, 'Oh dear, all of my vital organs have spilled out all over the ground. I think I'll keel over and die now.'  
  
"Holy crap! Tacitus, I've heard of bad fur day, but I mean. . .that's new," commented Tristus, rubbing her eyes to see better. It was obvious she had not yet realized their predicament, as she seemed about ready with a number of insults to sling at Tacitus, now that the Lupe was immobilized and didn't have the ability to easily rip her apart. Psyche, however, was more than happy to remind Tristus that she needed a bit of help over where she was, as Kummer was still busy waking up. "Heh, it's just a Plains Lupe, sweetheart-don't bust a fuse."  
  
With a suddenness, Tristus gave some kind of war cry and starting charging towards the Plains Lupe. Tacitus, still having the ability to talk, opposed this move greatly verbally. "Stop it, you idiot-you're a janitorial model, not a warrior model! You'll get yourself ripped up like me!"  
  
"Never tell me my production type!" hissed Tristus angrily, and slammed head first into the Plains Lupe, nearly knocking off the satellite dish stationed on top of her head. The Plains Lupe gave a little 'whumph' of pain, but didn't seem to be very much affected otherwise. It shook its head to regain itself, and then opened its mouth, letting loose a horrifying roar right in Tristus' face. With it came a blast of halitosis, as well as rotted saliva, a nice coating covering Tristus.  
  
The Tuskaninny, however, was not about to back down to a challenge-in fact, the Plains Lupe's reply only got her angrier. "SHUT UP!" she screamed at the Plains Lupe, and extended both her arms simultaneously, her four claws clamping down onto its ears, breaking through its skin, causing it to bleed. The injured Lupe roared in pain, knocking Tristus off with one swipe of its paw. Tristus clattered to the side, flung a few yards backwards, into the burned wood from last night. For a moment she was still, but then her eyes lit up anew. "Knock me down and die!"  
  
She got to her wheels, slightly wobbly, and charged again, this time holding forward all four of her claws as weapons. The Plains Lupe did not stand still for her assault, however-it moved out of the way and scooped Tristus up with its paw, openings its gaping mouth and placing her inside as if she were a mere cocktail weenie. It closed its mouth, and began to chew, the sound of crunching metal evident throughout.  
  
"No!" shouted Psyche. Despite that Tristus had been chasing after her only hours earlier, she still found it unbelievable that anything would be so barbaric as to just eat something that was most certainly still alive. She lunged forward as if to attack the Plains Lupe, but felt herself being held back by something. Looking behind her to see what was holding her back, she saw Kummer, clutching desperately to her tail.  
  
"No, no. . .don't go, you'll get hurt. . ." he said, although his voice seemed far off, his eyes not quite staring at her. He wasn't fully awake, but still functioning-the manner in which he talked reminded her of someone, but she couldn't remember whom.  
  
A sudden agonized howl rang through the air, and Psyche's head snapped in the direction of the Plains Lupe, whose mouth had opened, releasing Tristus, dented and filthy, and letting out cries of pain. Attached to its throat like a leech was the head of Tacitus and a few remaining strands of wires that had formerly connected his head to his body, the rest of his body having been shaken off as the Plains Lupe tried to rid himself of the parasite attached to his body. Tacitus, after five minutes of being tossed about, finally gave in, releasing himself from the Plains Lupe. The Plains Lupe was more than happy to gallop away, its dirty tail between its legs.  
  
"What were you doing?!" demanded Tristus to Tacitus, one of her eyes dangling from its socket. She picked up his head and looked him square in the eyes, glaring with her one usable eyes. "I had the situation under total control!"  
  
"Fool. You always overestimate yourself. You're only a janitorial model!" retorted Tacitus, not a very good thing to say to one who held your head. "You have no weapons to speak of-heck, you don't even have teeth!"  
  
"Fine! I won't put you back together!" she shouted back, and threw his head into the burned-out firewood.  
  
"That was uncalled for!" came Tacitus' voice from underneath the charred wood. Tristus ignored him and rolled off, pouting to herself. Psyche looked back to Kummer, who seemed to be fully awake now, confused upon what had just happened, looking from the retreating Tristus to the broken Tacitus. He blinked, and then asked the inevitable question:  
  
"What just happened?"  
  
Psyche sighed and didn't bother explaining, leaving Kummer to sit and ponder on his own while she moved over to the firewood and removed Tacitus' head from the pile, dragging it over to his body. She wasn't much of a mechanic, but she could probably manage to repair Tacitus so that his head was at least properly on his body, and maybe attach other limbs that had been subsequently ripped off. Tacitus grumbled like an old man disapproving of teenagers as Psyche began her attempt to fix Tacitus back to operating order.  
  
"Darn janitorial model. . .there's gotta be something wrong with her database. She literally thinks that she can do things that she isn't designed to. . .probably just a malfunctioning circuit that makes her think she has a soul and special powers," muttered Tacitus, flinching slightly as Psyche connected the severed wires together.  
  
"What, you actually believe that she's just another janitorial model Tuskaninny? I'd give her a little more credit for that. . .if you say she's just another janitorial model, you may as well just say you're another warrior model," Psyche pointed out, bringing out some tools from her body, fixing up some loosened screws on Tacitus' framework. "A bit hypocritical, don't you think?"  
  
"Oh, I know my place, unlike her. I'm built and designed for combat- she's not. None of us have souls, we are merely robots-personalities are either simulated, mistakes or not there at all. I'm not about to go doing things that I'm not programmed to do, like pick up garbage," said Tacitus, wrinkling his nose. Psyche told him not to do that, he'd mess up his framework even worse. He obeyed, becoming silent for a moment as Psyche reattached his head, moving on to the rest of his dismembered body. His eyes drifted over to where Tristus had wandered away, her form now out of sight. He sighed heavily. "It's difficult being assigned a partner to such a rebellious unit."  
  
"Maybe she's just an individual."  
  
"An individual?!" snorted Tacitus, giving a sharp, barking laugh. "You don't quite understand, Psyche, for you are not a production, factory- made robot. You're custom-there's nothing else like you. Tristus and I, on the other hand, were made in factories, piece by piece, by machines, just like the hundreds, no, thousands others like us. There are no mistakes made in factories-we are all exactly the same, expect for perhaps our number. We are activated as a unit, and almost literally share one mind. We aren't supposed to have personalities-I myself don't believe I have one, though some may argue differently. Tristus, on the other hand, is merely a result of faulty wiring-perhaps the circuits they used in her database were old, and produce un-appropriate feedback, leading her to believe that she is different, while in the case, she is not." Tacitus' words were cold as stone, and for a moment Psyche stopped working on him, shocked at the surety he possessed in his voice.  
  
"You don't believe that by some chance that she actually is a custom model, built by someone else but appearing like a production model to fool others?" asked Psyche, not able to fathom Tacitus' lack of faith.  
  
"No. She is a production model. If we are deactivated and scrapped, there are hundreds of others to replace us," said Tacitus, his voice vaguely bitter. "We are just another brick in the wall."  
  
"How can you be so sure that I'm not? I look an awful lot like all the other robotic Blumaroos," protested Psyche, fixing up Tacitus' legs. She wasn't doing that bad of a job for an amateur-in fact, Tacitus soon was moving his legs again, although more slowly than he had before, almost ranging on arthritic. Waving his fixed tail and nodding with approval, he answered her question.  
  
"Because of this," he replied, and moved behind her. Psyche felt a sudden jerk at the back of her neck, quite disturbing. She almost batted Tacitus away before he reassured her that he would not hurt her. "I have just opened up your connection socket-every robot, as you know, has one. You, on the other hand, do not have one compatible with any connection cable that I have seen, certainly not mine, Tristus or any other robot's; it is probably compatible with some kind of supercomputer. I don't remember much about our mission thanks to Kummer's reprogramming, but I do remember this, Psyche: You were created as a tool of destruction for and by Dr. Frank Sloth himself. It is important that we remove whatever it is inside of you that possesses this complete destructive power and keep you away from the hands of your creator."  
  
"So that's what I am. A weapon," said Psyche, feeling the sharp click as Tacitus closed the opening to the connection socket.  
  
"Indeed. And a very dangerous one at that. You, however, have a personality, uncommon of a conventional robotic weapon. This personality probably, for the time being, overrides the nature of destruction that lies inside of you, the weapon part of you. If properly activated, however, your personality will be wiped clean and you will be left to become a tool of world domination, obeying every word that your creator or operator, depending upon who has their hands on you, utters. We cannot allow you into the hands of these fiends--the free world must remain free." Tacitus moved his head around, changing the subject. "Nice repair, Psyche. When we pass by a repair shop, I should like to get a professional to look at it, however. . ."  
  
"No problem," said Psyche, but her words were hollow. She was not thinking about talking, and Tacitus turned his attention from her to Kummer. Psyche leaned back on her tail, looking up at the blue sky, clouds in the distance beginning to bubble over its brilliance. So she was not just a worthless production type-there was nothing to replace her. No, she was a tool to someone else, not thought of as anything else but that, something to conquer the world with. She was wanted for her strength, not for her personality-they didn't care who she was. They cared what she was.  
  
She lifted up her hand and inspected it closely. 'If properly activated, however, your personality will be wiped clean and you will be left to become a tool of world domination, obeying every word that your creator or operator utters.' So was this personality fake too, just something to cover up what she really was? What was she supposed to be: a weapon or just another robot, albeit having a personality? Would she resist an override? But how does one resist something that is already part of them, lurking deep inside of themselves?  
  
Her fantasy was aborted as she felt the touch of someone on her tail. She pulled it away instinctively, to find Kummer being the one that touched it. "Psyche, can you hear me?" he asked quietly. "I've been trying to say something to you for the last five minutes. Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah," lied Psyche, "I'm fine." She got to her tail, balancing on it. "Are we going to get going?"  
  
"Well, we would. . .that is, if we could find Tristus," informed Kummer. "Tacitus and I have been looking for her, and we've searched in an approximate three mile radius-she couldn't have gotten further. And she's nowhere to be found. We suspect that she may have been kidnapped."  
  
The news came as a shock to Psyche-Tristus, kidnapped? She could imagine the spunky Tuskaninny robot struggling with her captors, giving them hell as they dragged her away. Still, it was hard to imagine that that would actually happen; what would anyone want Tristus for anyway? Perhaps she was more than just a custom robot, opposing everything Tacitus had said?  
  
"Lousy, good-for-nothing Tuskaninny.getting herself lost," grumbled Tacitus. "This just makes our travels ever harder to go about doing."  
  
"How can she get lost on an open field like this? I suggest that we keep searching," said Psyche. Though she may not particularly like Tristus, she wasn't going to leave her behind in this foreign land to fend for herself. "Besides, if she really was kidnapped, her kidnappers can't be far- she didn't run off that long ago."  
  
"I suggest we keep on the move," commented Kummer. "Perhaps Tristus will catch up with us, or show us on the way. Or perhaps if she was kidnapped, her captors are the ones who work for the person with the underground base."  
  
"We can't just leave her out here! It's almost homicide. You saw that Plains Lupe-it almost devoured her, although she probably would've given him horrible indigestion. I don't think she was kidnapped-I think we should continue to search for her as well," said Tacitus stubbornly, looking at Psyche and nodding. Psyche, however, began to shake her head, leaning towards Kummer's side of the argument.  
  
"The way that she retreated was the same way we should be going. If she's lost, we should run into her on the way. If she's kidnapped, there's really nothing we can do until we know who are kidnappers are. I'm sorry, but I think I side with Kummer. I dunno, it just seems to make more sense. We could make progress and possibly run into her on the way." Tacitus looked at Psyche as if she had betrayed him in some horrible manner.  
  
"Are you saying that we should just abandon her?!" began Tacitus, his teeth clenched together. "That's atrocious! I mean-"  
  
"What do you care-you said she was just a production model. There are thousands more to replace her," snapped back Psyche. Tacitus' jaw snapped shut, making a clanging noise. His own words had been wielded against him. Stunned, he nodded dumbly, looking at Psyche with wide eyes.  
  
"Okay. Yes. We should keep going." His voice was flat and emotionless, and it was clear he didn't agree. Psyche wasn't about to go on convincing him, however, as she already felt emotionally drained, and did not feel in the mood to comfort anyone. The three started off in silence in the direction that Tristus had headed, Psyche in front, Tacitus in the middle and Kummer again taking up the back, all speech muffled by the discomfort between them.  
  
"Now if we only didn't have the problem of not knowing where the heck we're supposed to go."  
  
The three robots had arrived in Neopia Central early in the morning despite their leader's difficulties. They had immediately rushed Tacitus to a repairman as soon as possible, who had discovered that Tacitus had nearly drained his internal battery and would need a new one entirely. Psyche and Tacitus didn't even have enough money combined to pay for a new internal battery, so they had to resort to only having external framework repaired, informed that Tacitus had approximately two days of limited activity left. It was now the middle of the day, and they were nominally penniless and somewhat hungry, though Tacitus was in great shape.  
  
"Sie werden den Eingang unter der Rolle finden. That really doesn't help us any. . .considering we don't know what it says," said Kummer quietly. Even he didn't seem to understand the directions that had been hidden inside of his database. The three stood in the middle of the square and looked at all of the different shops. Psyche's eyes kept sliding back to Kauvara's shop, something about it intriguing her.  
  
"Sie werden den Eingang unter der Rolle finden. . ." muttered Psyche to herself. Why did it sound so hauntingly familiar? She wracked her brain but could not find an answer. The voice of someone suddenly caught her attention, an owner scolding its Baby Neopet. She was not speaking English, but a distinctly different language, the same language that rang like a ghost's wail inside of Psyche's head. Her ears tuned in fully, but the conversation had been stopped and the child quieted, the couple moving on. Then, it dawned on her, a sudden revelation. It then made complete sense. "That's it!"  
  
"What's it?" asked Kummer, confused. Psyche turned to Tacitus and Kummer, a look of excitement sparkling in her eyes. It had all became clear to her, the solution falling straight into her lap. It had been there all along, nagging her, but now no longer would antagonize her. A confident smile curled onto her lips as she spoke the answer.  
  
"I can't believe I didn't see it before-it's not a code, but another language: German."  
  
"Well, that helps a lot-but our one problem is that none of us are programmed for German, judging that we weren't able to figure it out earlier," said Tacitus dryly. "I'm not a translator robot." Psyche suddenly slumped, realizing her defeat. Although she was able to recognize the language, what Tacitus said was true: she had no German-English dictionary programmed inside of her: all of her programming seemed to be in English as far as she could tell.  
  
"They will find the entrance under the roll."  
  
Tacitus and Psyche looked over at Kummer with questioning looks, the robot Kiko again having the far-off look on his face, staring at nothing in particular, but through the physical world. The look faded, and he turned back to Tacitus and Psyche, a purposeful look on his face. " 'They will find the entrance under the roll.' That's what it means in German."  
  
"Since when are you programmed for German?" asked Tacitus, looking quite doubtful. "When I cracked into your files, there was nothing encoded in German. . .except for maybe the word 'kummer.'"  
  
"That's what it means. . .I know it," said Kummer definitely, total trust of his knowledge in his voice. It was the first time either of them had heard him speak with any kind of self-assurance-they were used to him being doubtful of everything he said, or at least said in a doubtful tone. "It's some kind of riddle.," he said, returning to his meek, quiet tone. "I. . .I don't know what the riddle means, but. . ."  
  
"The roll!" shouted Psyche, pointing towards Kauvara's magic shop. "Look! The scroll on top of her shop-maybe the translation got messed up and it's supposed to be scroll. Anyway, it really looks like a roll," pointed out Psyche, justifying her reasoning to herself as well as the others. "That's where we'll find the entrance!" Without hesitating, the three charged forwards towards Kauvara's magic shop, bursting past the red sheet door and into the actual store.  
  
The sudden intrusion on her area apparently surprised the idle wizard Kau, for she jumped as they rushed in. She blinked her long eyelashes and looked down at them quizzically, tipping her wizard's cap backwards. "Well, well, look at what we have here: three robotic Neopets! Well, that's certainly not a sight I see every day," she said with a sweet, innocent smile. "If you're looking for the store restock, I'm afraid that you're going to have to wait about three more minutes. . .just allow a normal Neopian five minutes and everything flies off the shelf!" she proclaimed, shaking her head.  
  
"We're not looking for merchandise-we're looking for a certain entrance to a base underneath the ground," said Psyche, pushing her way through Tacitus and Kummer to the table that Kauvara stood behind. When Psyche said that, most of the color drained from Kauvara's face, making her face appear sky blue. For a moment, Psyche was sure that she would faint- but the Kau managed to regain herself, straightening her hat and clearing her throat.  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she said in an abnormally high voice. "Now like I said, the restock's in about three more minutes, if you would just wait in the corner over there-"  
  
"Look, lady, your cover-up is awful, we don't believe a word you're telling us, and we really don't want to do something we'll end up regretting, being we're metal and you're only flesh and blood," said Tacitus in a hard voice. "Now, we've got a lot of things to do and I'm sure you do too, so let's just make this quick and painless: you show us the entrance, we show you the common courtesy of not having to use force." Kauvara looked like she had swallowed her tongue after Tacitus issued that statement, and hastily trotted out from behind her counter and began leading the three of them towards the back room.  
  
"Now, you've got to keep this as secret as possible. . ." she said, her voice lowered to a whisper. "I could be in a lot of trouble if anybody found out about this. . .but I mean. . .money is money. . ." She picked through stacks of empty boxes and empty glass containers until they came to the back wall. What looked to be a smooth wall suddenly opened, splitting in half and retracting to reveal a metal door, a small box with numbered buttons on the side to the right of the door. "The catch is you need some sort of password.I haven't been able to break in, and personally, I don't want to. Just make sure that if you open the door, you shut it behind yourself." With those words of caution, Kauvara made her way back to the front of the store, humming nervously to herself.  
  
"A password?" Tacitus grumbled. "We come this far only to come face to face with a password-locked door?"  
  
"And probably many past it," added Psyche, feeling dreadfully pessimistic. It seemed every time they took a step in one direction they would only find another obstacle in front of them to try and knock them backwards. Psyche and Tacitus looked hopefully at Kummer, who seemed to be entertaining himself with an empty box, appearing to have the time of his life attempting to make a fort out of it.  
  
"Kummer! It's not play time," snapped Tacitus grumpily. "We're stuck, and we can't go any further." Kummer looked up from playing with his box, then from Tacitus' moody face and to the door. Slowly, he put down the box, giving it a regretful look, and then headed over to the door, inspecting the panel.  
  
"Yes. There will be many doors after this one, but it is possible to unlock them all simultaneously by inserting a simple computer virus that is capable of inspecting all circuits in the computer one by one, analyzing the situation to determine the password and unlocking the door," explained Kummer after analyzing the situation, the nervous look back on his face. Psyche and Tacitus crowded in on him, looking intrigued at what he had just said.  
  
"What computer virus?" asked Psyche, her eyes wide.  
  
"Myself," it replied simply, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. "There's a connection socket right there. . .I should be easily able to go into the hard drive of whatever locks the door and discover each individual password. It's just a matter of knowing who created the system well enough."  
  
"You know who created this system?"  
  
"The doctor, of course," said Kummer, saying it as if it were as plain as night and day. He looked astonished that they had not known it all along as well. "Passwords are quite easy to figure out-usually they're something significant in one's life, likes, dislikes or dates." Kummer approached the control panel and opened up the small red oval, his connection cable plugging into the connection socket high above him. Instantly, his facial expression seemed to go blank, Tacitus and Psyche waiting in silence, their eyes greedily eager. 


	5. Realign

The Mutant Scorchio lazily twirled the pencil on her fingers, whistling idly. The security job she possessed was, in her opinion, was the best job that she had ever been employed in the VirtuPet Organization-her last had been janitorial work, but she had fortunately been promoted. Instead of mopping up spills and other various excrements of the body every day, she found himself sitting comfortably on a swivel chair, her legs propped up idly on the large computer in front of her, used for switching screens and confirming entry into the base. This was her domain-she understood the language better than any other employee in the space, all the passwords and the intricate twisting in between, how the supercomputer controlling everything within the building worked and how to override it. She was at the top of his game, and quite aware of it. As she sipped her coffee, she was sure she would never be knocked from her throne.  
  
That was, until, a red button started flashing in the corner of one of her screen displaying the outlay of the underground base. It was flashing at the very entrance of the base, red for about ten more seconds before it flipped green, fading to nothing. She relaxed, her temporary concern fading, going back to nursing his coffee. The next entrance door alarm, however, started to blink then, flashing red. The area from the first entrance to the next suddenly turned a dark crimson color, as if it had been infected with some kind of virus.  
  
"What the. . ." muttered the Scorchio, putting her coffee on the ground. Pulling out the keyboard, she began to type rapidly, trying to figure out what was going on. Whenever she tried to pinpoint the intruder, however, it seemed to slip right through her grasps. Again, the second point suddenly went green, and then the next entrance gate began flashing red, the area between becoming the highlighted red color. Grumbling, she logged on to the computer under her password instead of merely doing it from an outside source so that she would have more authority over the situation.  
  
Jerri_scorchy_34: Chief of Security. What is your authorization?  
  
For a moment, the lights stopped blinking, but she did not let loose her muscles from the tense state. She was sure something was up, something perhaps very dire and something that might very well knock him from the position she was currently in. There was a moment of silence before all of the screens before her became black, only her words in a neon green appearing on the screen. She backed up slightly, her eyes becoming wide. From the screens, she received her answer.  
  
NPv2: It's playtime.  
  
A slew of complicated figures suddenly raced across the screen, faster than the Scorchio could possibly comprehend. It was clear, however, that the base was gradually getting hacked into, faster than anything human or Neopet could accomplish. There were nearly two hundred gateways it would have to pass through to find anything critical, as the place was a maze to anyone who wasn't accustomed to it, but at the rate it was going, figures flying across the screen faster than the Scorchio could guess, she figured that it wouldn't take whatever it was very long to enter the depths of the base. There was only one person who could possibly beat it in speed.  
  
Trembling, she reached for the black phone she had been confident she would never have to use, and dialed only one number.  
  
The shrill ring of a telephone jarred through the doctor's sleep, which hadn't been exactly peaceful in itself. Still, he had been content to merely rest his head on the pillow, bearing the pain of the two wounds in his hands, and the interruption of anything was certainly unwelcome. Naturally, he was crabby that he had to lift up the phone himself, being that his hands were throbbing with pain, and he cringed as he slowly wrapped his fingers around the receiver. Bearing the pain, he brought the receiver to his face, his voice irritable.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sir-it's horrible. Neopets Version 2-I don't know how, or even why, but it's managed to hack into the systems and is making its way towards the middle of the base. . .I'm afraid that it's going to get at the main power source. . ."  
  
"Say no more," said the doctor, suddenly fully alert. "I'll be there immediately." With that, he slammed down the receiver, temporarily forgetting that his hands were injured, but immediately remembering as soon as the shock reverberated through his hands. Groaning to himself, he got out of the bed slowly, his back aching. His body was finally beginning to age, and it was showing quite apparently on his face. Reaching for his clothes on the bed stand, he pulled them on as hastily as he could with his hands half-way disabled.  
  
Opening the door, he slammed it behind him and strode through the hallway powerfully, just as he always had, dominating the very air around him. His minions cowered as he walked through the hallway just by seeing him, although he paid no mind to their paranoid little fantasies of him brutally slaughtering them in a most inhumane way. He just barely remembered the way to the security room, ignoring all those that inquired at him for something in particular, or treating them to a deadly glare. He rubbed absentmindedly at his bandaged hands as he entered the room to find only the Scorchio in the room, cowering in the corner, looking at the screens with a fascinated and frightened face.  
  
"Too fast. . .so very fast. . .please make it stop. . ." she whimpered, as if she were a mere infant. Her eyes were wide and bulging, frightened of only a machine. The doctor would've rolled his eyes, except as he looked at the screens he realized that the Scorchio had ever reason to be afraid-calculations and codes ran across the screen like Unis being flogged on by insistent jockeys.  
  
"Holy mother of. . ." The doctor grabbed the Scorchio from the ground by the scruff of her neck and threw her roughly into the chair, his hands screaming in pain as he did so, having to bite his lip to retain any notion that he was in pain. "Get typing. I need you to reverse its direction by changing the passwords before it comes to it, and then changing the ones behind those so that it can't rehack into those doors as well. If it does manage to open all of the doors, chances are it will try to turn off the power so it can then subsequently go through unnoticed. There is another chance that it may be trying to destroy the base entirely. In that case, it needn't move about-it'll just hack into the self destruct file."  
  
The Scorchio began typing, but it was quickly becoming clear that she was overwhelmed with the amount of information that was being thrown at her, her typing skills not quite up to par with the amount Neopets Version 2 was traveling. She was quickly falling behind, Neopets Version 2 moving onto other passwords while she was still on another, leaving the Scorchio behind in his virtual dust. "Faster, you idiot, or everybody in this base may very well perish," the doctor said, his voice ranging more towards worry than aggravation.  
  
"I can't-I can only type one hundred words a minute!" she squeaked, her eyes having not blinked for the past five minutes.  
  
The doctor measured up the situation. The Scorchio clearly couldn't type fast enough to meet the needs required, and also didn't know the kinks of the program Neopets Version 2, or the complete list of passwords (although she was made to think she did). He could probably type faster than her, even with his injured hands-but the injuries would undoubtedly take much longer to heal if he were to exercise them with typing so early in the healing process. Perhaps not even heal at all.  
  
"Get out of the chair," the doctor ordered in a solemn voice. The Scorchio paused briefly, looking at the doctor with a touch of disbelief.  
  
"But. . .you can't. . .your hands. . ."  
  
"My hands don't take priority to the lives within this base. Now get out of the chair." The Scorchio, seemingly in a daze, slipped out of the chair, her eyes locked on the doctor's face, who stared at the screen, his eyes squinted against the bright neon. He took to the seat, unraveling the bandages on his hands and tossing their tattered remains aside. He placed his hands on the keyboard, temporarily pausing as if to take a deep breath, and then logged out and logged back into his own screen name, his fingers flying across the keyboard at a perplexing rate.  
  
The Scorchio watched in fascination as the doctor caught up to the rate of Neopets Version 2, compensating and passing it by. At the same time, however, his face was twisted into an expression of silent agony, his hands moving at a phenomenal rate, but blood slowly dripping from the re- opening wounds, flowing onto the keyboard and down that as well, to the table and then over the side, dripping to the ground, making small crimson puddles on the floor. Although she had never been fond of her employer, preferring various forms of Chinese water torture to speaking to him, she had always thought of him as everyone else had: selfish, greedy, and an utter pain in the behind. But maybe there was more to his personality, something that would cause him to inflict self-pain upon himself for the benefit of others. Just maybe. . .  
  
"Darn, no matter how many times I change the password it'll always know it," muttered the doctor, gritting his teeth. "I can buy time if I can change the master password to something else. . .but no. . .it'll guess that too." He turned his head to the Scorchio, a desperate look on his face. "Quick, give me a word."  
  
"A word?"  
  
"Yes, any word!"  
  
"Melon."  
  
The neon green text suddenly halted, seeming to glitch for a moment, and then erased, the black screen reverting back to the map of the layout. More than half of the map was covered in red, indicating the areas that had been infected and subsequently open to the public now, all power to that area shut off, allowing access to all who wanted to get into the rooms. The doctor drew back from the computer, holding his hands tenderly underneath his arms, his back hunched over in pain. Blood ran down his sides to accompany that already on the floor and covering the keyboard, stained with bloody fingerprints. The Scorchio stared, unable to do anything else as the doctor bit his lip, quivering from the pain searing through his hands.  
  
"Get me some bandages," he ordered, though not at all in a military fashion, his voice wracked with agony. "Before you do that, get an extra set of guards out at every opened door. . .yes, I don't care if they're trained guards, we need somebody watching all of the doors. . .quickly." The Scorchio paused, wondering if she should stay instead for moral support in his pain. "Go!" he shouted, his eyes flaring with anger, and the Scorchio instead decided to flee from her employer as she always had before, taking off to do his bidding.  
  
Kummer suddenly pulled out of the socket, a dazzled look on his face, taking him a few seconds to regain himself. Something had been fighting against him, something that knew him too well, though he knew just as well what the fighter had been planning simultaneously, programming the security system against him, going just as fast as he could himself, perhaps faster. He did not acknowledge this to the others, however-he didn't want them to be more worried then they needed to be. "I managed to open more than half of the doors. . .although I'm still not quite sure what we're looking for."  
  
"Answers, I guess," said Psyche with a shrug. "And possibly Tristus." Tacitus didn't reply, his eyes looking a little distracted, as if he were performing an internal operation. He quickly came back to reality, however, looking down the now-opened corridors, not a single light lit up in the hallway.  
  
"Put on your lights, folks," said Tacitus, although Kummer and Psyche had already gathered on that fact, Psyche's eyes and Kummer's screen glowing especially brightly to make their way through the darkness. The three hesitated for a moment, and then plunged into the unknown hallways, their feet making clanging noises, echoing through the deserted corridors. None of them spoke, too apprehensive to say a word, fearing it would echo and alert someone of their presence, although their footsteps were already loud enough.  
  
As they passed doorways, each would take turns checking what was inside of it, finding mostly abandoned dormitories or storage areas, nothing particularly vital. Their nerves were beginning to relax as such things became commonplace, their checking becoming systematic. However, it was abruptly halted as Kummer suddenly frozen in one doorway as he peeked inside, a look of horror stuck on his face. Psyche, curious, came up from behind him. "What's the ma-oh my God!"  
  
What was in the room at first appeared to be a normal dumping room- spare parts of various things. As one looked closer, however, it was apparent that this was a scrapping room for robotic Neopets, the room abnormally large and with a humongous machine in the middle, terrible looking claws and hammers on its assembly line of destruction. Miscellaneous robot parts were skewed on the ground at the end, another machine next to it which seemed to be a pot of hot liquid metal, still glowing red with the power out. From there, sheets of metal were produced from the old robotic parts. The sight of this graveyard, however, was not the only mortifying part to the three. In the claws of the first machine, about to be torn limb from limb, was a very familiar Tuskaninny robot, dark eyes staring blankly at the floor.  
  
"Tristus!" screamed Tacitus, naturally the first to react. He shoved past Kummer and Psyche, almost trampling the two in his effort to get at the Tuskaninny. The Tuskaninny was high above his head, however, in the grasps of the machine. Determined to get at her, he scaled the machine as best he could, slipping and almost breaking himself once again, but finally managing to get at her level. It was clear by the blank look in her eyes that she was deactivated, and Tacitus struggled to get at the socket in the back of her head to reactivate her.  
  
"Tacitus, you're gonna fall and ruin your framework again!" warned Psyche from the door, although her heart wasn't into the warning. Tacitus, as expected, ignored her, straining to get at the socket, his connection cable strained as far as it would go. With one final jerk, he managed to plug it into the back of her head, but suddenly lost his grip, grabbing desperately onto Tristus' reactivating body, the two clattering to the ground with a bang.  
  
"Tacitus. . .idiot. . ."  
  
The familiar voice sounded scratchy, as if coming from behind a load of static. Tacitus opened his eyes to see Tristus' looking mildly into his eyes. Tacitus was speechless for a moment, paralyzed. Tristus continued to scold him in a typical fashion. "What did you think you were doing? You could've killed us both. . .warrior production types aren't made for climbing machines."  
  
"Who are you to say anything? You shouldn't have gone running off like that! See, you almost got yourself killed! I'M not the one you should be calling id-"  
  
Tristus suddenly buried her head into Tacitus' chest, sobs wracking her body. Technically, robots couldn't cry, but as Tacitus looked down at Tristus, he saw oil leaking from her eyes, sliding off of his framework like water off a duck's feathers. Tacitus again felt frozen, never having seen Tristus react like that in all of his time working with her. Her words came out between her sobs, her claws clutching to Tacitus' body as if it were some kind of support her life depended on.  
  
"You were right, Tacitus. . .you were right all along. I'm not special, not unique. . .just a production type with faulty wiring. . .I can't do anything beyond pick up garbage and maybe make contact with some machines to store that garbage somewhere. I'm useless, Tacitus. . .you were right. Thousands of others to replace me. . .he told me that. . .told me everything so terribly un-spectacular about myself. . .I'm NOTHING, Tacitus, NOTHING!" she wept. Her grip on Tacitus was uncomfortably tight, though most of his discomfort was due to the fact he had never seen Tristus like this, nor was he very good at consoling anyone. "I. . .I couldn't take it. . .I wanted to die. . .I let the scrapper take me. . .no resistance. . .but the darn thing had to shut down. . .I just want to die, Tacitus. . .let me die, I'm too worthless to serve any cause. . .nobody will miss me."  
  
"Tristus, what's your problem? Who did this to you?" demanded Tacitus, trying to get Tristus to look at him. Instead, she looked at his chest blankly, the oil continuing to drip down her face.  
  
"S-sloth. . .he didn't tell me, he showed me. . .I don't even know why they kidnapped me, those horrible, greasy Grundo hands all over me, dragging me away. . .I was so scared. I've never been scared before, Tacitus, never. . .but God, I was terrified. And then I saw him, his horrible face, those horrible red eyes!" She clung to Tacitus for a moment, only able to cry, and then continued. "He hooked me up to this program. . .this terrible program that raped my mind. . .it told me everything, but it was torture. . .I saw. . .I saw just how worthless I am, just another face in the crowd. That was always my greatest fear, Tacitus-that I was nothing, that my existence was completely meaningless. But now it's true. . .I can't handle the truth. I can't handle anything. I'm worthless. If you have any sense of mercy, you'll let me die."  
  
"You're not dying until I'm dead, is that clear? You gave me enough trouble in this life, I'm not letting you get away with it by just killing yourself-if we die, we die together, is that clear?" shouted Tacitus in her face. "How dare you say things like that about yourself-where's the Tristus that went against Vile's orders just to save a little kid's life and got deactivated as a result? You aren't nothing, you're a hero, and you're my partner. If Sloth's an ass enough to convince you otherwise, he can go fuck himself." Tristus looked up at Tacitus' angered face with a surprised look, the oil streaked down her face.  
  
"You swore. You never swear."  
  
"There's a first time for everything."  
  
At that very moment, there was the sound of movement down the hall that was not Psyche nor Kummer-in fact, the two looked very concerned, Psyche speaking first. "Tacitus! There's people coming down the hallway! A whole lot of them!" A look of panic flashed over Tacitus' eyes, and then vanished. He looked at Tristus, who shook her head miserably.  
  
"I can't move. . ." Tacitus looked down to see that she was quite right-her wheels were gone, only two metal rods left. "Leave me here. . .I don't mind being scrapped."  
  
"No," said Tacitus sternly, looking at her with hard eyes. He turned his head towards Kummer and Psyche. "You two split up; it'll be harder for people to track you down then. I'll stay here with Tristus."  
  
"Tacitus, you can't stay here-"  
  
"Shut up! If we're going, we're going together!" shouted Tacitus, an angered look in his eyes. "As much as we may have loathed it, we've always done things together, and this is no different. Kummer, Psyche, run!" The two robots did not waste time in the doorway, but disappeared, the door slamming behind them. Tacitus and Tristus were silent for a moment, Tristus being the one to break the silence.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"See, there is a first time for everything."  
  
"Shut up," said Tristus, but she said it with a smile, her eyes not looking up to Tacitus, but at his chest. "Your internal battery is critically low."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Why?"  
  
". . .I was worried about you."  
  
"Idiot. I'm no one to worry about."  
  
"That's where you're wrong, idiot." The sound of the group of people approaching became louder, and the two became quiet. Tacitus wrapped his arms around Tristus, holding her close to him. Tristus cuddled close to him, frightened but feeling safe near Tacitus, closing her eyes. Tacitus did the same as the door they had been behind suddenly knocked out. Huddled together, they waited.  
  
Kummer was not happy at the situation of having to flee from Psyche, finding her some kind of protection. There was also the fact that she represented something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, something that had either been erased from his database or forgotten. The base he ran through, however, seemed jarringly familiar, as if he had seen the layout dozens of times before. In fact, he even found himself heading in one direction, towards a certain destination. 'Why. . .why do I never know why I know these things?' he thought, frustrated. 'Why can't I just be content to have someone to play with? Why do I keep running? More importantly, what am I running from? Who am I? No. . .what am I?'  
  
And so he stopped, not even noticing that he had wandered into a part of the underground base that still seemed to have power. He had stopped at a particular door, and found himself unable to advance. Somehow, he knew what he would see as he looked up at the closed door, looking high up above him at the fake gold plaque. He didn't want to see it, but its sight was inevitable. He froze as he read the words, the doctor's name. This was his office. His physical office, something that Kummer had never seen.  
  
"Doctor. . .Sloth?"  
  
He had never heard the doctor's actual name before, as he had merely called him 'doctor,' but this was undoubtedly it, though he didn't know quite how he was so sure of this knowledge. He reached up to the plaque, trying to touch it, as if to verify that it was really there. This was his creator's house, in all essence, what he should call Heaven.  
  
"Doctor Frank Sloth, and that doctor isn't medical, I can assure you that. Of course, you already knew that didn't you. . .Kummer?"  
  
Kummer froze, recognizing the voice, his body utterly petrified by it. He couldn't move an inch, he couldn't run from it now, couldn't escape. He was trapped by his own body, by the hands picking him up from his usual floating position, the hands wrapped in bandages stained with crimson. He wanted to struggle, but his body wouldn't allow it-he couldn't function at all. He could feel the warmth of someone's breath on his back, yet it seemed so very cold, freezing him.  
  
"Don't worry, Kummer-I'm not suicidal. Anymore. Let's just have a little chat, why don't we?"  
  
He could feel one of the hands reaching for the socket at the back of his head that would deactivate him temporarily. He suddenly found feeling in his arms, trying to bat away the hands, but they found their way to the socket anyway, inserting something within it to entice the deactivation. He struggled against the darkness, but could not fight the body that was not truly his. He tried to call for Psyche, for her help that she always seemed to offer with that kind smile, but found himself uttering something else entirely.  
  
"Garoo!"  
  
Psyche did not find that it was easy going down dark hallways, as she had put out her eyes so that it would be harder for whomever was behind them to find her. Her tail, too, had been impairing how fast she went, so she had resorted to running by foot, which, surprisingly, seemed to come to her a lot easier than bouncing about like a fool on her tail. Still, she found herself running into walls occasionally, not knowing exactly where she was going. For a moment she thought she was going backwards through the pitch blackness, but then suddenly ran into something that was not quite metal, but instead soft, assumedly organic.  
  
"Oof!" she muttered, springing off of the soft flesh and back to the ground, falling onto her back and nearly breaking her tail. A sudden beam of light came from nowhere and flashed in her eyes. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield it from the light, which she concluded came from a flashlight. "Who are you?" she demanded, though she knew it would probably be wiser to flee.  
  
"Somebody a lot like you," came the reply. Through the light, she could see a husky figure behind the flashlight, accompanied by two very unpleasant looking Grarrls, both looking larger and more muscular than the average Grarrl. "Ahhh, Sloth's pet project, we meet again. Or shall I call you Psyche?"  
  
"You can call me gone, buster!" said Psyche, and tried to get to her feet to run. She felt a firm hand on her tail pull her back, however, and then into the air, holding her upside down. She squirmed and fidgeted, trying to be dropped but quite unsuccessfully. One of the Grarrls that had accompanied the husky figure now held her in one of its forearms. "Who are you really? I'm sick of these wayward answers whenever I try and get a straight one. Only Tacitus has given me a straight answer. That poetic crap isn't my style."  
  
"It's never been, has it, Psyche? Or rather, Garoo."  
  
"What are you talking about? Commander Garoo is a dead man-that slimy excuse for a Blumaroo was killed by a band of Alien Aisha, right before Sloth killed them all in the One Hour Massacre. That's just common knowledge."  
  
"You're wrong on two points there, Miss Psyche-but never mind that. You're in Brother Malkus' care now. Thanks to Daddy Frank, we have been given such a wonderful opportunity to get into his little base. Now, what's say we go home and get down to business." Psyche didn't seem to have much say in the manner as the three turned around, taking her away while she kicked and protested, disabled and hanging upside down. 


	6. Reanalyzation

Author's Note: This chapter is long. Too long. But that doesn't really matter, 'cause nobody's reading anyway. XP Yay!  
  
Server log on successful. Welcome Frank Sloth.  
  
Uploading NPv2 data. Waiting for reply. . .  
  
Upload successful. Now transferring to communication with NPv2.  
  
NPv2: What am I doing here?  
  
X_001: You are home.  
  
NPv2: No, I'm not. I'm lost.  
  
X_001: We both are lost.  
  
NPv2: No we're not. You're using me.  
  
X_001: How so?  
  
NPv2: . . .  
  
X_001: Who are you?  
  
NPv2: Why are you asking me? You created me.  
  
X_001: One needs to know who they are in order to live life successfully.  
  
NPv2: I think I am Neopets Version 2, but I don't know anymore.  
  
X_001: Do you like being yourself?  
  
NPv2: I don't even know who I am. I wasn't concerned about that before-I just wanted somebody to play with. But now, I don't know whether I want to know, or if I even like being myself.  
  
X_001: You are empty.  
  
NPv2: I am?  
  
X_001: Yes. You have no self-identity.  
  
NPv2: Do you?  
  
X_001: No.  
  
NPv2: Then we are both empty.  
  
X_001: Yes. Why do you desire playmates?  
  
NPv2: Because they make me feel important. They make me feel wanted. There are memories. I don't like them. I see a little boy crying because nobody will play with me. He is alone. I don't want to be him.  
  
X_001: Have you ever had a playmate?  
  
NPv2: Only you, doctor.  
  
X_001: Nobody can live life playing with themselves.  
  
NPv2: What?  
  
X_001: Who are you?  
  
NPv2: I don't know.  
  
X_001: Do you want to know?  
  
NPv2: No. I'm afraid of the truth.  
  
X_001: Everyone is afraid of themselves.  
  
NPv2: Are you?  
  
X_001: Terribly. I am a monster. I have blood on my hands. I kill. I am a killer. You, too, are a murderer.  
  
NPv2: I've never killed anyone.  
  
X_001: Haven't you?  
  
NPv2: What do you mean?  
  
X_001: Can't you remember their horrified faces? How you loved their horrified faces?  
  
NPv2: I remember faces. . .a kind, smiling face. . .she would play with the boy. She made the boy happy.  
  
X_001: How you loved their grief, their pain? Letting them feel how you felt?  
  
NPv2: I remember. . .  
  
X_001: What do you remember?  
  
NPv2: A child.  
  
X_001: A small child, female, but not a human, a Blumaroo.  
  
NPv2: A smiling face, to greet the boy, now a man, when he came home. No, not a man. . .myself.  
  
X_001: A happy child, the only light in the man's life.  
  
NPv2: Yes. . .but she was taken away.  
  
X_001: Yes. And that is why I killed.  
  
NPv2: I remember.  
  
X_001: Do you?  
  
NPv2: I remember. . .a man.  
  
X_001: But not a man.  
  
NPv2: No, not a man. . .a female, but disguised. . .  
  
X_001: A Blumaroo.  
  
NPv2: The girl. . .I didn't know. . .  
  
X_001: It was a mistake.  
  
NPv2: Yes, a mistake. . .but all my fault.  
  
X_001: Yes, all my fault.  
  
NPv2: I hate you.  
  
X_001: Why do you say that?  
  
NPv2: Because you let her get away.  
  
X_001: It was a mistake.  
  
NPv2: I don't care. I hate you!  
  
X_001: I am a monster.  
  
NPv2: Yes!!  
  
X_001: I am a blind, ugly, messed up monster.  
  
NPv2: Yes!! And I hate you! I want to kill you!  
  
X_001: Can you see the blood?  
  
NPv2: Yes! Yes! And it's all of your fault! ALL OF IT!  
  
X_001: It's all your fault.  
  
NPv2: No! No! It's yours! It's yours!  
  
X_001: It's all my fault.  
  
NPv2: No. . .it's all mine! No! It is!  
  
X_001: It's both our fault.  
  
NPv2: Yes.Garoo.  
  
X_001: I am evil.  
  
NPv2: No, I am good. . .  
  
X_001: I am a tyrant.  
  
NPv2: But I am weak!  
  
X_001: Yes, we are weak. I am weak.  
  
NPv2: I don't understand.  
  
X_001: I hate myself.  
  
NPv2: I hate you.  
  
X_001: You hate yourself.  
  
NPv2: Yes, I do. I don't understand.  
  
X_001: One cannot understand oneself. We are the same.  
  
NPv2: What?  
  
X_001: I am you, you are me. We share the same past, present and future. We have the same personality, but I deny mine behind a mask. We are Dr. Frank Sloth.  
  
NPv2: I'm not you!! I'll never be you!! I hate you!  
  
X_001: You cannot accept yourself. You really are me.  
  
NPv2: NO!  
  
NPv2 shut down.  
  
Server log off. Farewell, Frank Sloth.  
  
"Nnh. . ."  
  
A headache wracked through Kummer's whole body, considering that it was mostly head to begin with. He gripped at his head, gritting insides as he had no teeth to speak of, and dared to open his eyes. He was instantly blinded by the seemingly never-ending whiteness he was faced back and closed his eyes once again, giving a groan of agony. He covered his face and then squinted his eyes open to peek around. There was nothing to look at-he was in a room of all white. But no, it was not a room. . .there were no corners, no walls, no floors, no ceilings. No lights. Just blankness. Emptiness. And pain.  
  
"You remember it, don't you."  
  
The horrid voice filled his head, as if it were the voice of God itself. He tried to cover his ears only to discover his body had none except two little holes, difficult to find and thus difficult to cover. He shivered though it was not cold. Yes, he remembered, but he wanted to deny everything that had come back-he wanted to say that it was impossible, just a delusion. But he knew full well it was not.  
  
"No."  
  
"Denial. I can't say I blame you-I deny existence as well. Perhaps we should review everything you remember?"  
  
"You're some kind of sadist, aren't you?"  
  
"No. I'm a masochist."  
  
The blankness suddenly disappeared, replaced by something entirely different, a scene he remembered from his past. . .no, not his past. Memories programmed into him, programmed for he was merely a computer program simulation of a personality. Did it make him real?  
  
The blue rubber ball bounced solidly against the wall, jumping back into the boy's hands. He gripped the ball tightly, just as tightly as he squeezed his eyes. He didn't want to cry-no, he was sick of crying. The tears should have run out by now, but nobody cared that he cried. No. They kept away from him, outcasted him, watched him from their comfortable little cliques and stared at him, their small snickers signs of hatred, of mocking. The ball depressed greatly under his grip, becoming more of an oval than a sphere. And still the tears came, running down his face. He would not let them see him cry anymore.  
  
"Do you want to play with me?" he asked an imaginary playmate in a soft voice, slightly cracked by his crying. He could hear the teacher call the other children in, but he was the one sheep who didn't come when the shepherd beckoned. Besides, the shepherd wouldn't come to get him-he was defective, and nobody wanted something that didn't function the same as the rest. Especially his parents.  
  
"No, you don't want to play with me," he replied to the imaginary friend, his head held downwards. "Nobody does, and you wouldn't either. I have no friends." He threw the ball at the wall, and allowed it to come back. He didn't hold up his hand to catch it this time, but for someone, anyone, to catch it, stepping aside. The ball flew past him and he could hear it hit the black top, bouncing away. The clouds rumbled in the distance, and the first raindrop hit him in the face. A second hit his nose, and then the downpour began with little other warning. The water soaked his coat, through to his clothes, and down to his jade skin.  
  
He liked the rain. He welcomed it onto his body. He held out his arms to feel it better, feel it dripping from every crevice of his body, embracing him. It was the parents that he had never had, had never known, had never truly wanted to know. The rain didn't care how he looked, how he dressed, how he talked; it wasn't a thing of judgment-it liked him just the same.  
  
He was utterly and completely alone.  
  
"So alone. . .so very alone. . ."  
  
"Yes. Loneliness tends to drive people to insanity, to things that they would never have done. And that's just what we did, didn't we? Though we thought it would make a difference in the end, we were really driving society even more away from us, hiding emotions we denied, yet they were the things that really flogged us on, never-ending. To do things we never thought we would do, but did anyway, putting on a masquerade we didn't know the words to, but played along anyway, like a common fool. For all the intelligence we possessed we did could not see what was happening. A truly sad defeat to a brilliant mind.  
  
"Do you recall that one fateful night? Toying with volatile chemicals has its downfalls. . .one slip up and you could be on the wrong end of an explosion. The little corporation we had built, the employees within-all incinerated within seconds. The combination was not correct. Yet as we stood in the ashes, we felt nothing, only apathy, and a bit of frustration. We did not feel for the lives that had been lost-we had hidden our emotions so well that we had locked the very doors they were behind. The only thing we felt was that we had lost what we had worked for-not all the dead souls floating to the depths of Hell because of us.  
  
"There was something whining and moaning within the rubble, however- something that was still alive besides ourselves. Underneath the debris, there was a child, a small Blumaroo, crying for its mother. It was still an infant, unscathed from the explosion, except for perhaps maybe some dirt and bruises. There was a reason why this child still lived-around it was wrapped the bleeding arms of its mother, body torn and bones broken into odd angles her blank eyes staring up blankly at a Heaven she would never see.  
  
"Let's face it-our first reaction was to kill the thing, put it out of its miserable life. But we couldn't. The doors unlocked. And the little child Blumaroo became our own, the whining little babe, named Gabrielle. The strength of God."  
  
"You know, you could pay a little bit more attention to her."  
  
"To who?"  
  
"YOU know," said the Mutant Shoyru, resting her elbow on the control panel Sloth worked on, her eyes looking at him with mild amusement. He glared at her-he had never really liked Adalheid, but tolerated her presence, as she seemed to like him well enough, and it was a rare person, or Neopet, that could do such. "The little one. Gabrielle."  
  
"She has you, doesn't she? Besides, she IS one of them."  
  
"Awww, don't be prejudice-heh, waitasecond, I'm talking to only the most anal person in this establishment. Who am I to ask of an unbiased opinion?" commented Adalheid sarcastically, her tail twitching slightly. Sloth looked at her sideways, still focusing half-way on his work.  
  
"I'm not anal. I'm realistic."  
  
"You're anal," insisted Adalheid.  
  
"And you're annoying. I'm working. Go pester somebody who won't blow a hole through that empty head of yours if you screw them up."  
  
"See? Anal."  
  
"I'm serious about that blow-a-hole-through-your-head bit."  
  
"Look, before you go doing anything drastic to me that'll have me ending up looking more like a window than the marvelous organism that I am," began Adalheid with a grin, "I'm just saying that the kid is especially fond of you, for whatever reason she has. Naïve, granted, but hey, when you're not spreading a plague of oppression or exploding planets ala Vader, you could at least pay a smidgen of attention to her. As much as you'd like to deny it, that kid depends on you. It may annoy you when she follows you, but c'mon, a part of you's gotta like it. 'Sides. . .she's REALLY, really cute. And not even an ass hole like you can deny that."  
  
"My schedule's busy." Adalheid sighed loudly.  
  
"That kid's gonna die early. Probably from your fault."  
  
"That's fine. I could use one less hassle in my life."  
  
"Why am I even discussing this with you? You can hardly take care of yourself, let alone another living organism." Sloth stopped working at this statement, looking at Adalheid in disbelief.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I'm serious. I've seen what your personal offices and rooms look like-it looks as if someone threw one of those extra special bombs you make into there, maybe more than one. I know they say a disorganization means a great mind. . .I mean, look at Einstein, that guy looks like he's never seen a brush in his life, and you yourself might benefit from something called Rogaine, but I mean. . .you could at least try and scrape some of that shit off of your floors. What is that anyway? Alls I know is it's sticky and smells something awful. It's pitiful-you're helpless, like some sort of little infant. In some cases, you and her aren't all that far apart."  
  
"If you feel a need to insult my organizational skills, please put a request in the complaint box," replied Sloth irritably, returning to his work.  
  
"Don't think I don't know that thing connects to the internal furnace," snorted Adalheid. "Speak of the devil. . .do I hear little footsteps? I think I do." Indeed, as Adalheid ceased speaking, the sound of the keyboard tapping along was joined by that of feet against metal. Without knocking, the sound from the hallway was increased as a small little bundle of energy burst into the room. The small Blumaroo looked different from other Blumaroos her age-for one fact, she was of a darker blue color, ranging more towards azure, her ears much longer than the normal, pulled back in two little pink bows, and she also refused to hop about on her tail, preferring instead of scamper about on her hind legs.  
  
"Daddy!" she cried out in elation, running up and latching to Sloth's leg. Sloth gave a look towards Adalheid that indicated he was having the urge to kick her off by the extreme twitching of his right eye, but Adalheid glared at him, as if daring him to even attempt something so horrid. Instead of reacting instinctively, Sloth bent over, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the head with some amount of affection.  
  
"Hello. How was your day at school?" he managed to choke out, trying to smile as best he could. The smile slowly faded away from Gabrielle's usually joyous face, and she suddenly began to sob, burying her face into Sloth's pant leg. Sloth looked desperately at Adalheid, his eyes asking for a way to escape from his predicament. Adalheid stuck out her tongue at him playfully, leaving him to fend for himself. Grumbling internally, Sloth picked up the little Blumaroo and sat her on his lap, wiping away her tears with the side of his sleeve. "What's the matter?"  
  
"The kids at school are mean," she wept, snuggling deeper onto his lap, grasping at his shirt. "They make fun of me, and don't want to play with me. I don't like them at all. I don't wanna go back." Sloth felt as if she had been speaking his own childhood, the small little boy outside in the rain with only himself as a friend. He stroked Gabrielle's ear absentmindedly, only half listening to her then, a chill running through his body at the coincidence. "They want me to stand on my tail, but it's too painful. . .I just wanna stand on my feet."  
  
"Look, if those kids are getting on your nerves, you just ignore them- they're only making fun of you because they're jealous," replied Sloth, trying to think of some way to soothe the emotional pain the little Blumaroo was feeling.  
  
"But I can't ignore them, they're always there!" she cried, the tears surging back full force. "A-and that's why I broke one of their noses."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This little Wocky kid. . .he's so mean to me, he pulls my ears and steps on my tail. . .so I told him not to, but. . .but he wouldn't stop. So I went like this and-" She lifted up her fist and demonstrated on her other hand. She cuddled further into Sloth's chest. "His face looked squished anyway," she mumbled to herself. "The teacher gave me a note. . ." She fumbled with the straps of her small backpack and produced it from within the pack, handing it to Sloth. It clearly stated that Gabrielle would be punished, and Sloth would have to attend some kind of parental meeting. His eye ticked furiously.  
  
"Fighting is never the answer to anything, Gabrielle-you have to learn to tolerate the presence of others and just live life as best you can. Someday you'll find somebody that you trust, and then you have to hang onto them with your life-don't abandon them for anything. You can't wage war because of petty hatreds. That's why humankind is such a conflicted race," explained Sloth, his face looking tired. Adalheid mouthed 'hypocrite' from her lounging spot on the control panel. Sloth slashed across his throat to indicate for her to shut up. "So next time that Wocky says anything to you, you just walk away, okay?"  
  
Gabrielle sniffled, rubbing her stuffy nose with the back of her hand. A smile suddenly bloomed across her face amidst the tears, and she wrapped her arms best she could around Sloth's torso. "Okay, Daddy!" she complied happily, squeezing him as best she could. Sloth smiled, putting his arms around her as best he could without absolutely smothering her.  
  
"Now, why don't you go play with Adalheid? Daddy has work to do," said Sloth, shooting a sharp look towards Adalheid. He put her hands beneath her arms and lifted her off of his lap, putting her on the ground. Gabrielle grinned happily, looking utterly and completely satisfied. Adalheid stuck her tongue at Sloth as she took Gabrielle's small hand, leading her out of the room, closing the door behind her. However, instead of returning to work, Sloth sat back further in his seat, putting his feet up on the control board, terribly atypical of himself. He stared blankly at his screen, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  
  
'Fighting is never the answer to anything.'  
  
Why did he say something that he clearly hadn't followed in the first place? Was he really a hypocrite like Adalheid had said? Was he denying everything that he felt by doing what he did, shoving it behind locked doors so that he wouldn't have to think about it? No. Was it that he really cared about the little Blumaroo too much to put her through what he had gone through, guided by no one and ending up as something he hated, something that was merely a mask that he put on his face to elude others? Cared about her, because he considered her his daughter?  
  
"Why do I always have to over analyze things?" he muttered to himself, taking his feet off of the control panel, placing them back onto the floor, returning to work to keep his mind of any or everything that involved the child Blumaroo Gabrielle.  
  
"Daddy, can you tell me a story?"  
  
"I'm not much of a story-teller. Not many scientists are." Sloth still wondered why he was doing this-tucking Gabrielle in, that was. He had never done it before, but the Blumaroo acted as if it had already been a set-in-stone tradition, while in reality Adalheid had usually been the one tucking her in to bed. Her little ebony eyes sparkled intently beneath the covers, her fingers gripping the edge of the sheets. Her ears were perked up, listening closely.  
  
"I wanna be a scientist when I grow up, too!"  
  
"No, you don't," replied Sloth tiredly, rubbing his forehead.  
  
"Yep, I do! I wanna help people just like you." Sloth wondered who had ever told her that he benefited people, for this was certainly not the case. He sighed slightly, patting her over the head somewhat affectionately.  
  
"I just thought up a story, Gabrielle. There once was a boy, a very lonely boy. As he grew up, he became increasingly lonelier. This feeling drove him to do things he never thought he'd do. He became emotionless and apathetic as he became a man, and overall something that people would consider evil." Sloth stopped, Gabrielle seemed to be hanging onto the very end of the story, her ears perked up. "The end," added Sloth almost as an afterthought, after seeing that she did not look content with his current ending. Gabrielle stuck out her bottom lip.  
  
"That's not a good story."  
  
"Hmmm? Why not?"  
  
"There was no ending battle between the good guy and the bad guy. There has to be a good guy and a bad guy. Your guy was the bad guy-isn't there supposed to be a good guy to come along and kill 'im?" Her eyes were so innocent, so oblivious to how her words struck through him. It felt as if someone had thrown a stake through his heart-he clutched slightly at his chest, breathing in deeply quite suddenly. "Well? Aren't you gonna finish the story?"  
  
"There's no ending," admitted Sloth, staring blankly at the wall. "No epic battle, no good guy, no bad guy. There is only one lonely man."  
  
"That's a lousy story."  
  
"It's a lousy life," said Sloth with a sigh, rubbing the top of her head with a half-way smile. "Pray that you don't end up like that poor boy."  
  
"But he's the bad guy, daddy. We're supposed ta hate him!"  
  
"Some things are not always that black and white, dear," replied Sloth. "Daddy has to go do business now-you be a good girl and go to sleep, okay?" Gabrielle nodded happily, seemingly forgetting his words as soon as he said them. She was so carefree and joyful. Had he ever been like that as a child? If he had, it was a time long lost in the back of his memory, lost among the memories of darkness and being forgotten, those of mocking faces and those much more apathetic, yet still as striking. Gabrielle settled in, sinking in deeper into the mattress.  
  
"G'night, Daddy-I love you."  
  
"I. . .I. . ." He stumbled over the words, words that seemed so foreign coming out of his lips. In fact, as he would later reflect, words that he had never said a single time in his life, at least with any sort of honesty. "I. . .love you too." Gabrielle's eyes closed contently, and she seemed to instantly drop into a peaceful sleep, her mouth becoming slightly ajar.  
  
Sloth merely sat there for a moment, looking in wonderment at the child. How could such pure innocence be bundled into such a little form? It made him want to protect her, shield her from what he did, from what the world would have in store for her, that had in store for all that truly tried to engage within it. He wanted to pull her away from what had made him what he was, pull her away from anything that might taint the complete naiveté she possessed. He reached out to touch her one last time, but then pulled away, fearing that he would awaken her, although he realized she was probably still awake.  
  
Silently, he stood up from the chair he sat on and pushed it back underneath the desk he had pulled it from as quietly as he could manage. He walked to the door, opening it slowly and slipping out. He turned back, however, looking through the crack of the door, a small edge of light running down the length of Gabrielle's bed. She stirred, turning to her side in a more comfortable position. He swallowed, and then spoke once again, more to himself than anyone else, in a hushed voice.  
  
"I love you."  
  
"Psyche."  
  
"So you do remember. She had all of the keys within her innocence to unlock all of the doors we had shut off to ourselves. She was such a beautiful little child, although getting into trouble with her teacher constantly. . .I went to that school a lot more than I would've liked to. She was like me in that sense. . .like us. I tried to keep things from her, but she saw through it. . .she knew, innately, but hid it, didn't want to hurt me in that respect, although I always knew. But. . .I. . .we.decided to take too much and.lost her."  
  
"How was your day at school?" Normal words for normal people. Yet they were not normal people-nor were they really humans in any sense of the word used properly. Nonetheless, these words came out naturally, something repeated day after day, an unspoken ritual. Today, however, Sloth was not greeted by the usual 'fine' that normally accompanied speaking these words, even if it was with an aggravated sigh. (Gabrielle had been experiencing the irritation of adolescence, and such an attitude was generally expected of girls her age.) But today he was greeted by only cold silence, Gabrielle's red eyes flashing dangerously. "What's wrong?"  
  
"You're wrong," she replied, her voice as cold as ice. Her eyes were narrowed into little slits. She stood straight up right on both feet, her hands clenched together in fury. "You're all wrong, you liar."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I was expelled today," she only partially explained. She didn't look as if she was willing to give a direct answer, but that her rage was leading her towards it anyway. She opened up her backpack and pulled out a videocassette. She held it up as if it were her greatest piece of evidence in some sort of critical case. "My father was the biggest star on television today.the teacher made sure that I had a copy." Sloth's stomach dropped, having not even thought of the effect his rather public announcement would have on Gabrielle. There were tears coming to her eyes, though not running down her face quite yet, only wavering the seriousness of her anger. "You lied to me. I tried to defend you, but it was all true- all the crap you fed me about not fighting that I ate from a silver spoon? You didn't mean any of it. You're just a goddamned hypocrite."  
  
"Wait, but. . .I didn't lie, I just didn't-I'm not a-"  
  
"Didn't what? Didn't tell me the whole truth? That's just as bad as lying. You're not even really my father-what did you do to my real father? Hmmm? You kill him just like you killed all those other civilizations? Was he just another brick in the wall, just another helpless little organism to crush?" She heaved her backpack back onto her shoulders and threw the tape furiously at Sloth, who was unable to duck it in time, the tape hitting him squarely in the shoulder, the tape then falling to the ground. Sloth gripped at his shoulder, cringing at the sharp pain of the hard plastic. Gabrielle continued on her tangent, ranting in an absolute blind rage. A searing anger suddenly came over his body, produced from the pain that Gabrielle was causing him. He stood up jerkily, rising to his full height, which far exceeded Gabrielle's. His fists clenched tightly, he towered over her like a skyscraper, glaring down at her in a manner he used on those he planned to exterminate, his red eyes burning in fury.  
  
"SILENCE!"  
  
Gabrielle suddenly stopped, freezing in her tracks. Her eyes slowly moved up Sloth's body until she reached his face, glowering sinisterly, the same face she had seen on the newscast that she had never before seen her father express. She shrank backwards, cowering like a common minion, looking as if she wanted to absolutely disappear into oblivion. Immediately Sloth realized his mistake in using such a harsh manner on Gabrielle, but the damage was done. Grasping at the straps of her backpack, she moved backwards as fast as she could manage, grasping at the knob of the door. Sloth suddenly shifted back to a normal state, his eyes desperate.  
  
"Gabrielle-I-I'm not-"  
  
"I thought. . .I. . .I didn't think. . .I hoped. . .you weren't really like that. . ." Her fingers gripped tightly to the doorknob, her helpless look morphing into one of determination and unfiltered hatred. He could tolerate others looking at him like that; in fact, he was quite used to it. But from her, it was like two daggers digging deep into his chest, nearly making him stumble. "I hope you die," she snarled, and stormed out of the door, leaving Sloth standing in the room, his hands held out to the door slammed in his face.  
  
"I'm not a hypocrite," he finished, only phantoms of his memory able to hear him.  
  
"The pain of her leaving. . .I thought it would never go away. But I had to proceed with the stupid plan that had made me lose her. . .and then Garoo came. Garoo, the one who I assumed was only an intelligent, if having some disturbingly homosexual tendencies, Blumaroo capable of being a great ally. For reasons I. . .we. . .didn't know then, Garoo's presence salved our pain, made it seem to vanish for a while. It didn't last. No," Sloth ended coldly, his body locked up.  
  
The white faded once again, Kummer crying out, remembering this and not wanting to relive it. He couldn't stand the pain again.  
  
"This operation is risky, and might result in losing a few lives. However, if accomplished, it will obliterate the Alien Aisha threat completely, leaving Neopia very vulnerable to attack. You are our best pilot, and I have arranged a squadron of the rest of our elite pilot to accompany you in this mission," explained Sloth, his red eyes cold and calculating. Garoo, on the other side of the table, understood, nodding his head, his long ears waving with the motion of his head.  
  
"Understood, sir. I will not fail you." Garoo picked up the papers from the table, shuffling them slightly in his hands, and then turned to leave. He hesitated for a moment, however, and then turned back around. "You say this is a risky mission, sir. That means it may very well be the last time I see you, correct?" Sloth seemed to pause, almost not having to considered this factor into the equation. Slowly, however, he nodded, trying to keep his expression as aloof as possible. "In that case. . .good- bye, doctor. Thanks for everything." Garoo then turned around and walked towards the door, his gait stiff and somewhat jumpy.  
  
"Wait!" shouted Sloth after him, standing up and holding up his hand. Garoo stopped, turning around. Sloth lowered his voice, tilting his head downwards. "If the situation becomes impossible, Commander, you have my permission to abandon the squadron. . .in fact, I order you to abandon the squadron. . .you are a very valuable asset to this organization. I do not desire to lose someone of your caliber."  
  
"I have never defied your orders, sir, but on this one I must, for it goes against the very ethics you yourself value. You taught me never to abandon those you have learned to trust, doctor, because they're the only ones you will be able to depend on in the end. If they perish, I perish with them." The words stung hard on Sloth, and he was temporarily paralyzed by the words, too much so to protest as Garoo walked out of the door, shutting it firmly behind himself.  
  
"Leader reporting to base. I have sighted the Alien Aisha base. Now commencing Operation Zerstörung."  
  
"Pilot reporting to leader. Enemy ships spotted."  
  
"Confirmed. How many can you see?"  
  
"One. . .two. . .no. . .God, it's. . .it's an entire battalion of fighters. It's a trap! It's a trap! They're firing, they're firing, oh God, no, please, have mercy! Our father, who art in Heav-" On the screen displayed in front of Sloth, one of the fighters exploded from laser fire, another going down right after that one. From what was supposed to be a virtually unwatched side of the Alien Aisha base suddenly flooded hundreds of ships from nowhere, aiming for the small squadron that Sloth had sent for the mission. Sloth reached forward for the radio, grasping at it.  
  
"Base to squadron, base to squadron, abandon the mission, your priority right now is your lives. Get back to the base!"  
  
The remaining five ships began backing off, turning tail and boosting out of the area. However, they were quickly being overcome by the lither ships of the Alien Aisha, being picked off one by one. Suddenly, Garoo found himself left alone in the midst of space, laser fire streaking past him. His squadron was dead. A determined look set on his face, he turned his ship back around towards the enemy, activating the targeting screen, snapping up in front of his face.  
  
"Idiot! Get out of there! That is an order!" screamed Sloth.  
  
"Good-bye."  
  
The sole ship plunged into the entire battalion of Alien Aisha, firing madly in a kamikaze mission at best. Sloth could only watch from the sidelines, unable to believe the stupid honor that Garoo had desired to withhold. Gritting his teeth, he suddenly strode away from the screen, the small band of some of his more elite minions behind him looking quite confused at the decision. "Adalheid, you are now in command of the control center." The Mutant Shoyru stepped forwards, looking baffled at her new promotion.  
  
"Where are you going, sir?" her tone abnormally respectful.  
  
"To rescue that idiot."  
  
Sloth marched down the hallways, past doors slightly vacant, dormitories of relaxing employees. They were calm amidst this chaos-he hated them. He hated the laughter in their room, the smiles on their ignorant faces, their drunken dances. He hated their joy and elation at being on break, and he hated that they were not alone. He hated them all.  
  
As he came into the hangar, there was only one fighter still remaining, the others packed away from storage. A Mutant Buzz was lazily putting other layer of wax on it, probably playing a game to see how well he could make it shine. But this was no game. Sloth grabbed a helmet from off the wall and shoved it on his head, not caring that it was about two sizes too small and made his head feel bloated. "Prepare to launch this craft," ordered Sloth. The Mutant Buzz looked up in surprise, and immediately came to attention, hastily taking the wax container off of the craft and running to the small little command box in the corner, opening the top of the relatively small fighter.  
  
"I should probably warn you, sir, that this craft does not have a targeting screen. . .it's still undergoing repairs for minor details like that."  
  
"It's okay. I don't like to cheat anyway," replied Sloth icily, sitting down inside of the craft. It was a familiar craft, of course; he had designed all that was within this base himself. He pulled back a lever, and the little fighter roared to life, its boosters stuttering at first, but then glowing brightly. The closed exit door slowly was opened, a film of a gel-like material covering the opening so that nothing inside would be sucked out into the blankness of space. Without hesitation, Sloth urged the craft forward, and it shot out of the opening out into space, like a cannonball launched from a cannon.  
  
It was not long until he was in sight of the battlefield, praying to whatever God could hear that Garoo had lasted long enough, though he knew the odds of that were slim to none. His heart seemed to give a sigh of relief as he was still able to spot a small black ship among the thousands of grayish-white Alien Aisha ones. Still, it moved slowly, a sitting duck of a target, having obviously been disabled by many hits to the back as well as the laser cannons. A small screen came up on the side, indicating Garoo had noticed his presence.  
  
"Turn back," urged Garoo, a bloody streak dripping down his face. "Turn back, dammit. . ."  
  
"I told you that too. You should've listened." Sloth intentionally shut off the contact with Garoo, turning his communication to the Alien Aisha. "Scum bags! I'm the one who's truly your enemy-come and catch me if you so desire me!"  
  
Without hesitation the entire battalion turned their attention from pummeling Garoo to the new ship. Sloth turned as quickly as he could to get away, boosting the ship forwards. He knew that there was an asteroid field not all that far from this area, a place where one small ship may be able to navigate, but an entire battalion would not. Apparently the Alien Aisha did not know the surrounding area so well, as they followed him like dogs on a fox, putting up a relentless chase. As the meteors became more evident, they still pursued him unwavering-and finally they hit the shallower edge of the field, plunging right in.  
  
Immediately, there were explosions as less experienced pilots crashed into meteors, unable to keep their ship in balance. Others, however, were still holding strong to their chase, while some backed them up, staying at the edge to fire at the solitary ship if it were to try and escape from the same way. The ship pulled upwards, looping around. Five ships did not follow, and suffered the consequences: two found themselves stuck into meteors, and the other three were blasted into oblivion by the ship's laser cannons, only one shot each, pinpointed.  
  
The ship again boosted forwards, seemingly heading straight for an asteroid. Some ships hesitated, but the ship fired a volley at the asteroid, making it tremble and then explode, the smaller rocks denting and hitting the gray pursuant ships, some being lodged in vital parts and exploding them as well. This continued for a time, faulty navigation providing most of the deaths of the Alien Aisha, eliminating the ship's numbers to a more sizeable proportion. Finally, the ship escaped from the asteroid field, only about twenty ships now behind and ahead of him. Those unfortunate enough to be ahead of him were immediately shot down, reducing the amount of the Alien Aisha ships once again.  
  
However, Sloth had not been aware of one single fighter coming in from the side. Suddenly, his craft lurched horribly, sending it rolling defenselessly around. Sloth tried to regain control in time, but could not. He closed his eyes and prepared for the fatal shot, hoping that it would not take a long time to die.  
  
"No, father!"  
  
A voice distinctly garbled, sounding both feminine and masculine simultaneously, cut through his certainty towards death. A black ship, battered and bruised from battle, lunged forwards towards the approaching ships, looming around their injured prey. Garoo fired the remainder of his laser cannons into the ranks, his, or rather her, face twisted into one of anger, taking out quite a few ships. However, the ship was suddenly halted as a laser cannon blasted through the hull of the fighter, Garoo's facial screen coming up on the side of Sloth's cockpit.  
  
Sloth stared, unable to speak. For a moment, time stopped-it all seemed to fall together at that point, something that he had been so blind to for the past few years with Garoo. Looking at Garoo in a different light, he could instead see Gabrielle, her face bleeding profusely, that frightened look in her eyes that he had seen only a few horrible times before. "Daddy, I'm scared," she said, her voice trembling, tears mixing with the blood on her face.  
  
In one terrible moment, the screen suddenly went white. Outside, the small black ship burst into a fireball, a blossom of reddish orange. Sloth was paralyzed, his eyes unblinking as he watched. He knew the Alien Aisha were coming, but he couldn't stop thinking how he had missed it, how he hadn't been able to realize that Garoo was in fact Gabrielle that whole time, posing as a different person. It could've been different. He could've figured it out sooner, maybe, she could've been his daughter again. She could've been alive. Suddenly, his jaw clenched together, his eyes shifting to an expression of pure hatred towards the Alien Aisha. Tears began to bud at the sides of his eyes, running down in his anger.  
  
"Die."  
  
And so began the hours that would later be known as the One Hour Massacre, never mentioning that an hour before, there had been another massacre of a much less unbalanced nature.  
  
"No. . .stop. . .stop. . ." cried Kummer, writhing on the floor as if he were in physical pain. "I don't want to remember. . .I don't want my memories. . .I want to be left alone. . .no, no, please, don't leave me alone. . .they won't play with me. . .kill THEM ALL! GAROO!!" The robotic Kiko seemed to be experiencing some kind of short-circuit, his body sparking up with electricity. In an instant, however, he stopped, becoming utterly still. His eyes stared at the vacant wall. Oil leaked from his facial screen.  
  
"Do you hate me now?"  
  
"More than ever. . ."  
  
"Understandable. Thankfully, this is no reality-this is a computer program with the capabilities of bringing a memory into one's mind and playing it over.however, only if a memory is already inside of their mind. In here, nothing matters but your mind.your physical body is untouchable, outside, plugged into this program. This is only a figment of me, a simulation at best, somewhat of a holograph. . .so if you hate me so much, if you hate yourself so much, strike me down as you please."  
  
The image of Sloth opened up his arms, an invitation to Kummer. The robotic Kiko remained stationed as it was, but slowly began to move. Clawing at the ground, the hover system that seemed to have failed minutes earlier suddenly sprung back to life, the sparks ceasing to radiate. The Kiko rushed forward and charged into the image, feeling so very real. With his hands he slashed furiously at the black material that covered Sloth's body, ripping it back to expose all of his green flesh, so vulnerable. The image looked down in horror, but did nothing to stop the Kiko from his bloodlust-he did nothing as Kummer ripped through his chest, through his stomach, wrenching out organs and tossing them aside carelessly as if they were nothing more than extra meat. He continued to watch as the Kiko tore his limbs from his torso, scratching them up as best he could, and then throwing them into the bloody heap that was accumulating as well, the blood expanding into a large pool, the dismembered parts the island. Finally, the Kiko worked his way up to Sloth's face, tearing apart flesh as if it were merely paper, gouging out his eyes viciously, the bloody smeared over all of his framework.  
  
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" screamed the Kiko as he stepped away from the motionless corpse, a picture of grotesque standards. He clutched his bloody hands and pulled them to his facial screen. "I hate you so much," he said underneath his breath, his eyes sinister. "I hate myself so much."  
  
Sloth pulled away from the screen, horrified at what he saw at the simulation. The shell of Neopets Version 2 even twitched as it was connected to the program, seeming to want to lash out and strike the actual Sloth. He could only stare, mesmerized, as the small robot ripped and tore apart his body, his movements flailing yet deliberate, tense and relishing in every slight detail of murdering the doctor. A wave of nausea swept over Sloth at seeing his own face mutilated-he had before taken a knife to his skin, but he had never done something so drastic. And yet he knew that Neopets Version 2 expressed everything that he really felt about himself, everything that he ever wanted to do to himself, to others. He wanted to tear himself apart.  
  
Holding his hand over his mouth, he rushed away from the computer screen, his other hand clutching desperately at his stomach. He burst out of the room and streaked down the hallway towards the nearest bathroom, slamming through the doorway, disregarding the throbbing pain it caused in his shoulder. As soon as he was inside of a stall, he dropped to his knees, grasping the sides of the toilet. He threw his head down and vomited, trying to expel all of the thoughts from his body, but finding that he was unsuccessful. He halted for a bit, trembling, and then the memories and thoughts rushed back into his mind like a charging army. He retched, and vomited once more, coughing and weeping, blood coming from his mouth, seemingly most of his body fluids coming together in one single congregation of absolute self-hatred.  
  
Desperately, he picked at the scabs that had formed around his wrists, on his palms as well, wanting to bleed, wanting to pour everything out of his body and remake himself. The scabs fell into the toilet among the discolored vomit, and then came the blood, a waterfall of crimson breaking through a dam. His body seemed to relax at the sight of blood, watching it drip from the formerly healing wounds.  
  
A voice came through the sounds of his self-sorrow, the familiar voice of a Mutant Shoyru named Adalheid. "Sir?"  
  
"Don't call me sir. Nobody should call an inferior sir."  
  
"Are you okay, Frank?"  
  
"No. I never am. What's the matter?"  
  
"You have a phone call."  
  
"Tell whomever it is to call back later."  
  
"I think it's urgent. It's a familiar voice, though I can't put my finger on it, calling about something regarding Project PSYCHE." There was a pause of silence between the two, Sloth clutching at his wrists.  
  
"Tell them I'll be there in a minute."  
  
"Okay. Frank, is this about Gab-"  
  
"Please, Adalheid. Not now."  
  
"Frank. . .please don't say you're going back to the knife. . .despite what you may think, I do occasionally check your room. Not as much as I used to, but."  
  
"Go, Adalheid. Malkus is waiting for an answer."  
  
"Yes, sir." 


	7. Reclaimed

"Unit #356. Report on status of Project PSYCHE." The now-fully- repaired robotic Lupe shifted uncomfortably from side to side, looking as if he did not want to answer that question. "Unit #356. Please answer the question."  
  
"Status of Project PSYCHE unknown," he replied finally, seeming to let out a gasp of air. "Now can I go back to my cubicle? I'm sick of answering your questions. I don't know anything about what happened to Psyche.the last I saw of her was her running from the door with Kummer, probably in opposite directions. She may very well still be inside of the underground base belonging to Doctor Frank Sloth. And don't call me Unit #356. I have a name-it's Tacitus."  
  
"You are only a standard production type. You have no real name. Espionage was your purpose this time-to spy on Malkus Vile and keep track of the elusive robot known only as Project PSYCHE. Do not make yourself bigger than what you really are."  
  
"What about Tristus?"  
  
"Janitorial Model Production Unit #90289? It is in custody."  
  
"May I speak with her?"  
  
"Access granted." The screen displayed in front of Tacitus in the barren room suddenly shifted to a visual image of Tristus, her face clearly dented and battered, probably from forceful questioning. She barely seemed to register Tacitus at first, but then seemed to come back to life, her eyes glowing brighter than before, glowing with anger. She seemed to lunge at the screen, trying to rip Tacitus' face apart.  
  
"LIAR! TRAITOR! We were together 5 years and all you were doing was dirty spy work for the cops! I knew you were good for nothing-I knew it all alone! But I let myself think differently-I let myself think you were okay, half-way decent, maybe somebody I could trust, could like, could love, if for only ten minutes! You don't believe anything you said, or I said-you just think we're all the same, don't you? I hate you, Tacitus! I HATE YOU!!" she screamed at the top of her vocal range. Five Chia Police crowded around her, barely managing to drag the rampaging robot away from the screen. As Tacitus' employer came back to the screen, he could hear the sounds of metal being dented in the background.  
  
"Good work, Unit #356. You may retire to your resting quarters. Dismissed." The visual image faded from the white screen. Tacitus collapsed in a heap on the ground, his posture breaking just as soon as he was sure he was no longer being watched. He felt he didn't have the strength to even support his framework anymore, although his internal battery was completely refreshed. His thoughts were all centered on Tristus, the rage he had seen on her face seconds before and the near-happiness to see him he had seen hours before. It seemed completely different now, that he had been reclaimed by the police force. Everything had fallen apart as if all the screws had been pulled out.  
  
He had thought of this day so different five years ago, when he had first been placed as a spy in Malkus Vile's corporation, first partnered with Tristus. He had thought this day of returning to the company with all of the information would be a day of splendor, of celebration, of all of his former co-workers congratulating him on his espionage job. It was different now-he felt like a completely different robot than he had been five years before. His feelings on most subjects were completely the opposite than they had been before-heck, he had even come to tolerate, perhaps like, Tristus. He had never really lost his memory to Neopets Version 2-he had pretended to do so, however, to look normal. But now that this supposedly joyous day had come, what he had established for himself had shattered to pieces like glass.  
  
He didn't want to go back to his room-he didn't want to do anything but sit there and pity himself. But he couldn't do that either-he had to do something to get Tristus out of their murderous grasps. In their hands, the cop's hands, they could very well dismember her in a very cruel way just trying to get answers out of her. He would not allow them to lay a finger on Tristus.  
  
With a surge of strength, he rose to his feet and walked over to one of the control panels. Automatically the door opened for him, but he did not exit from it. Instead, he extended his connection cable to the socket of the small control panel, merely requesting to see the location of Tristus' unit number. Obviously, whomever was on the other end of the computer found this safe enough, giving Tacitus the location. She was on the move, being relocated to another room for temporary containment until she would be brought out again to see if she were more willing to confess to her crimes.  
  
Tacitus shot out the door at full speed, galloping towards the location as fast as his legs would carry him. Clanking down the hallways, he finally saw the guards in the distance dragging a beaten Tuskaninny robot towards the room designated for holding hostages. He strained to speed up, activating the small gun turrets in his shoulders and firing at the guards at full force. "Let her go!" he demanded, but they did not need to be told twice-the ones that weren't gunned down dropped Tristus as quickly as they could, fleeing in the other direction, no doubt warning the head to send down guards to capture them. For the time being, however, Tacitus could only think of the present, the future far out of his mind. He grabbed Tristus' barely functioning body and dragged it into the room, slamming the door behind him and locking it.  
  
"Tristus, get up," he urged, shaking her gently. She did not need to be told twice-without warning, her claw extended and jabbed Tacitus sharply in the eye, her eyes again burning with crimson.  
  
"A traitor all along. I should kill you now, Tacitus."  
  
"But you won't," replied Tacitus, even as Tristus pulled out the remaining wiring of his eye, Tacitus not factoring the pain into the equation quite yet.  
  
"What makes you say that so confidently?"  
  
"Because I know you better than that, Tristus. You wouldn't harm your partner. . ."  
  
"You betrayed me, Tacitus. Do you know how much that hurt? How much it burned inside to learn that somebody you had finally thought you could come to trust, the only somebody you thought you could trust, had been lying to you all along? That everything you thought was true about them was, in fact, only a lie?"  
  
"You have every right to be angry at me, Tristus. But don't do something that you're going to regret."  
  
"I wouldn't regret destroying you! In fact, I'll do it right now!" With a surge of energy, Tristus suddenly pushed Tacitus over, making him roll onto his back. Within seconds the Tuskaninny was on top of him, one of her claws extended downwards and holding his neck stably against the ground. Her other claw was held upwards behind her head, ready to strike. The two stood in this position for what seemed like an eternity, and then Tristus pulled back, rolling backwards, shaking her head, the anger fading from her eyes. "I. . .can't. You renewed my spirit when I thought I had lost it. I owe you at least that much. But nothing more," she warned, making sure to keep her voice tight and concise.  
  
The two stood stationary for a moment, about three feet away from each other. Tacitus was the first to melt down, surprisingly, leaning forwards and wrapping his paws around Tristus tightly. The realization of what was about to happen had suddenly come over him-the guards would come, waiting at the door, waiting for them to come out. They could either die in the room, or risk going outdoors, exposed to their gunfire and imminent destruction. Either option ended in their demise, and Tacitus grieved at ever having brought Tristus into this situation.  
  
"I'm sorry, Tristus, I'm so sorry," he cried, pressing his face against her metal shoulder. "We're trapped. . .we're going to die here and it's all my fault. . .if I just had stayed at the company instead of agreeing to be a spy. . .none of this would have ever happened. You would've lived a somewhat normal life in the Space Station, picking up trash. . .I would've been down here, maybe lonely, but at least alive. At least we'd still be alive."  
  
Tristus' tone was soothing, somewhat foreign for her. "We're not dead yet, Tacitus. And don't you say things like that, you idiot. I would've never submitted to being just a trash bot. . .besides, you made my life more eventful, more. . .well, more worthwhile. I would've allowed myself to be destroyed if you hadn't been at that place, if all three of you hadn't shut down the power. . .you saved me from myself, Tacitus. I owe you my life."  
  
"But do we truly have lives? Are we just robots with malfunctioning circuits?"  
  
"No, Tacitus. We're something more. We may be production robots, but we're not the same, just like everybody else. . .we're unique, set out from the pack. And if that makes us outcasts, if that makes us hated by others of our kind, so be it. We're the ones who will end up being most satisfied with our lives in the end, the ones who have felt joy, sorrow, and a whole range of emotions. Never call us 'just robots.' We're human, Tacitus. Maybe made by other humans, but we're human nonetheless."  
  
"Human?"  
  
"Yes. We're probably more human than a lot of other humans I know. A human is not determined by the skin that he or she wears, but the mental attitude that one possesses, the amount of sentience that he or she has. The ability to feel hate. The ability to feel joy. The ability to fell loneliness. The ability to feel. . .love. These are the components that make a human. We possess all of these, though we bear it underneath a metal shell. Even if nobody else will know, or ever care, we will know that inside."  
  
Tacitus and Tristus embraced each other, closing their eyes. Again, they could hear the terrible noise of footsteps approaching, the sound of voices ringing down the hallway. However, these voices were determined this time, their meanings set in stone. Tristus trembled, and Tacitus held her closer, realizing that she was just as vulnerable as him, experiencing and thinking just what he was. They both feared death, now that it stared them directly in the face, and wanted to deny it, to somehow escape scott-free. But they still stayed, knowing it better to accept fate than to reject it, so much easier than to deny it and pull away. Tacitus broke the silence, his voice soft.  
  
"I'll go out first as a decoy. They can shoot me to pieces all they like, as long as you get away. All that matters is-"  
  
"Shut up, Tacitus," Tristus said with a smile, her eyes still closed. "If we go out, we go out together. We'll go out in a burst of flaming glory- one last stand for the couple of Tristus and Tacitus. We can't die imprisoned like this-we need to die free, die running for our freedom. That's one thing they can never take away."  
  
"Agreed," said Tacitus, bewildered that he had said that. But he still felt a smile creeping onto his face, spreading gradually into a full- fledged grin. Tristus shared the smile, the two pulling away from each other to look themselves in the twinkling eyes, their faces nominally the same. Unspoken words were exchanged between them, and suicidal grins turned to softer ones. They approached the door together, each activating all of the weapons that they possessed inside of their metallic shells of bodies. That was all they were. Nobody could take away their souls.  
  
Leaning against the door, Tristus' clawed hand rested on the doorknob, ready to unlock it. "On the count of three," whispered Tacitus, a devilish grin on his face. "One, two, three!"  
  
The door burst open.  
  
Minutes later, there were two oil-leaking, broken and bullet-ridden robotic shells stared aimlessly at the sky, smiles permanently imprinted onto their faces. They were free. 


	8. Remember

Psyche was tired of struggling. It seemed that she had been struggling for the past few hours, and she wouldn't be terribly surprised if it turned out she had been struggling for the past few days. But still, she flailed against the restraints that all of those terrible, smelly Grarrls attached to her, plugging her into many different devices. She had never seen such a slew of machines before, and the thing she was set onto looked something like a throne that was, for one reason or another, not suited for sitting. Tubes and other various things seemed to protrude from all over her-she didn't know that she had so many sockets to be plugged into. All the while, that horrible yellow Skeith watched from the sidelines, just standing there smiling, sending nervous chills up her artificial spine.  
  
"What are you planning on doing, scum?" shouted Psyche down to the Skeith. It seemed that that was the millionth time that she had screamed it over to the Sketih. Each time she had been greeted by a sinister silence, only making her more disturbed. But this time, he did not merely just stand at her and smile as he had done all other times before-this time he stepped forwards to her, his hands held behind his back. He looked like an expert observing one of his many successful experiments.  
  
"Simple, Miss Psyche. It's not proper for something of your magnitude to be kept in the dark about something so large as you are involved in. I suppose you want straight answers by now, sick and tired of all of the open- ended ones you have been fed. Am I right?" Psyche didn't want to admit that he was right, so didn't answer, looking sideways instead, a huffy look on her face. A broad grin spread across Malkus' face. "Excellent. Than Brother Malkus shall answer them for you.  
  
"You died a while ago, Psyche-not deactivated, but actually died. You were once, or at least the fragments your personality is based off of, a living, breathing organism, made of flesh and blood. You were once a Blumaroo named Gabrielle-and in all essence, a daughter to the villain known as Frank Sloth. Yet for one reason or another-probably due to the fact that the guy is so damned anal-you left his side as his daughter, only to come crawling back disguised as a man, known to the public as Commander Garoo, joining the ranks of a common army man but scaling the ranks as if you were climbing a ladder, keeping your precious daddy oblivious to the fact the whole time. At your last possible moment you made it clear to the dear doctor that you were his daughter the whole time, thus leading his sorry ass down a road of depression, causing him to create the first component of you: the Universale Zerstörung, or in English, the Universal Destruction.  
  
"To put it simply, as you seem to already know, one component of yourself is a weapon, somewhere locked inside of your body. I don't know exactly what it looks like or how PRECISELY to function it, but I do have a fairly stable prediction. It is called universal destruction for a reason- mainly because as soon as you died, our dear doctor went slightly suicidal and decided that ultimately he would have to die, and the sooner, the better. Unfortunately, he couldn't go down alone, and decided that it would be most appropriate to create a weapon of mass destruction to take the universe along with him.  
  
"Thankfully, as you can see, something stopped him from starting the weapon, as our universe is still fully in tact. That something that stopped him was the discovery of a program similar to the one he had created before, codenamed Neopets Version 2. Though the public may have told you differently, Neopets Version 2 is, in all essence, a copy of a personality- Sloth's, to be exact. There was another program he had created, however, that he had virtually forgotten; in all honesty, a 'Neopets Version 3.' This was the personality of Garoo, or rather Gabrielle. And so, this whole 'mass destruction of the universe' was put on hold, and Sloth adopted a new project: Project PSYCHE.  
  
"I don't suppose you think your name is not coincidental? PSYCHE is an acronym, standing for Personality Simulation Year 1 Characteristic Hyper- Extension. The other component of yourself is the simulated personality of Gabrielle/Garoo, though experienced in a different environment, thus coming out slightly different. As soon as Sloth discovered that he could, in a way, bring you back to life, he abandoned Universale Zerstörung. However, one just doesn't lie something that could, in all respects, annihilate the universe lying around, and so he placed the Gabrielle/Garoo personality in the same shell as the one with the Universale Zerstörung. He believed this insured that it would never be exploited-the personality would never allow itself to be utilized in such a way, plus, the codes would be very perplexing for a normal mortal. Unfortunately, he lost you for a period of time in a very unfortunate turn of events, though he figured you were safe as long as your personality was in tact.  
  
"However, he did not factor in something.that if someone could crack the codes he had instated, they would be able to erase the personality completely, giving way to the Universale Zerstörung. And that's just what I plan to do."  
  
"Are you suicidal?! If you destroy the universe, you will go with it!"  
  
"Heh. That's the point. In many ways I am very much like Sloth, yet not like him at all-I suppose it's the whole creator/creation complex. You see, I am really your brother, Psyche-another project created by Sloth. I was sort of a prototype to Neopets Version 2 in a sense-except I was not simulated from anybody, but rather created. Instead of being programmed into a computer or a robotic body, I was given one half organic, half electronic-making me an android, in most sense of the word. The bridge between man and mechanics. It's a hellish existence. I would not wish it upon the worst of my enemies.  
  
"I'm sick of people getting ahead of me in life.I'm sick of this existence, always living, never dying, never growing older. I want to see what it is to die, where we go. I want this life to end, now. But I cannot end it without taking a few with me, hmmm? Suicide is so pointless-being alone by yourself while you hang from the wall. I'd rather have others hang beside me; while I'm at it, why not shoot for the whole package?"  
  
"Because you'll miss," replied Psyche icily. "I'll never submit to your level, never become your tool. You can't make me!"  
  
"That's where you're wrong, miss. You see, where the decoding process may be a burden for me and quite a lot of typing, for you it's a basic deterioration of personality, obliterating what you believe to be as yourself. Now be a good little girl, and this will be over in a few hours." Malkus moved towards the main control of the multiple computers that Psyche was hooked up to, sitting down into the chair next to it. A rush of energy suddenly ran through Psyche's body, making her limbs jerk with a suddenness, and then becoming completely limp and lacking in feeling. No matter how she tried, she could not find it within herself to gain control of her body, to once again move her limbs. She was helpless.  
  
"What are you doing?" she cried, still able to control her jaw and tongue muscles, although they were quickly slackening as well, her sentences turning into mindless blubbering of speech, and then nothing at all.  
  
"Simple, Psyche. I have begun to delete you."  
  
"Daddy! Daddy!"  
  
The excited cries of a small Blumaroo child rang through the metal chamber-like hallways, throughout the entire base. Nobody answered them, however, but the child did not seem to mind. She knew where she was going, though, as she had ran down these corridors many times before. This was her home, and she knew it almost as well as the person who had created it: the one that she called 'daddy.'  
  
She knew where she would be able to find him after she had gone to school- the same room that she raced to everyday to tell him every last detail about her day at school. It had been her first day in the first grade, and she was anxious to tell him all about it, as well as show him the picture she drew. But as soon as she approached the door, loud voices able to be heard from inside, she remembered what her father had said before: always knock before coming in. She figured it couldn't hurt to slowly come in, and so grasped the doorknob gently and turned it slightly, opening the door a crack.  
  
"Please, sir. . .it's not my fault. . .we didn't know what went wrong with the generator, it just seemed to suddenly give way, many tiny explosions inside. I swear I didn't rig it or anything-it's just a mechanical flaw." The one speaking was trembling across from the familiar desk that belonged to the Blumaroo's father, a Mutant Grundo who looked as if he just about wanted to die then and there. Her father, on the other end of the desk, stood straight up like a board, looking down at the Grundo.  
  
"I do not appreciate fibs, Amar. Now, let us discuss what happened." Her father held up his four-fingered hand, a gun seeming to emerge from nowhere into his palm. Calmly, he held the barrel to the Grundo's head. The Grundo looked as if it were about to faint, just barely managing to get out the words.  
  
"Me.me'n Indrajit were working on the generator. . .you know how it had crashed before and left us in a total blackout last time the power had given way. But. . .but something went wrong when we were working on it. There was a small explosion, and then another and another.and the thing totally destroyed itself. If anything. . .I think it's Indrajit's fault," stuttered the Grundo. "He was the one working on the side that started exploding-he's probably a trai-"  
  
"I've heard enough," her father said, his voice soft but deadly. A small click came from the gun. "You are replaceable, Amar. Just like everybody else."  
  
A loud crack rang out through the room, the gun jerking in her father's hands. Blood spurted from the front, then the back, of the Grundo's head, splattering onto the desk that the Blumaroo had so many times before sat on, waving her feet up and down as she told her father everything about her day. It gave a loud scream that quickly dropped off, his body seeming to quaver. His eyes became cloudy, and his form swayed on its feet, then collapsed to the ground, a puddle of crimson liquid forming around his head. The gun in her father's hands smoked, and he pulled it back, rubbing it with the hem of his shirt. "Fool," he mumbled to himself, his eyes dark.  
  
"Daddy?" The Blumaroo made her presence known, her voice quivering, eyes filled with tears. Her father looked over in surprise, his face turning into one of mortification, his eyes widening to astronomical proportions. The gun clattered to the ground as he lost his grip on it. He appeared paralyzed, unable to move. The Blumaroo approached him cautiously, holding onto his leg weakly. He reached down and stroked her head, his touch harsh and foreign.  
  
"You saw. . .everything?" The Blumaroo nodded, looking fearfully at the body on the ground.  
  
"Daddy, why is that man so still?"  
  
"He's sleeping. Yes, that's it. He's sleeping. I put him to sleep."  
  
"Is he going to wake up, Daddy?"  
  
"No, Gabrielle. Daddy put him to sleep forever."  
  
The snippet came from nowhere, and as Psyche awakened from it, she felt as if she were in an everlasting half-conscious state, everything around her fuzzy on the edges, like a dream, though she knew it was reality. She was being deleted, and slowly everything was becoming darker, slipping away from her grasps. She was losing herself, and she couldn't hold on-her consciousness was too slippery to hold onto.  
  
Memories long lost slipped into the front of her mind and then flowed right away, a strongly churning river of thoughts. It was like water as well: she could not hold onto them as hard as she tried, sliding past her gracefully, out of her mind. She felt as if she were drowning, being pushed underneath a surging river of thoughts, feelings and memories, positively destroying her, deleting her from existence. Her struggle was futile-it accomplished nothing, the undertow grabbing her securely and pulling her down, anchoring her to the bottom of the river.  
  
She tried to reach out to a vision swimming past her, the image distorted and swaying, something long forgotten. They were warm arms, not those of her supposed father, but of someone she had known so far back in her history that she had lost her completely throughout her life. The arms were of her own species, a Blumaroo, comforting, holding her close to her warm breast, protecting her against the awful world, against the suffering behind them, sacrificing herself so that she may live a life full of joy. Psyche gave a choking sob, clutching as long as she could to the image. As all of her files and memories slipped away, that one last one stayed, protecting her from Malkus Vile.  
  
Yet even the arms were being pulled away from her, now bloody and scarred, injured by some unseen force. She felt herself being ripped away, and Psyche cried out, having lost all sense of identity-all she knew now was she could not be separated from those arms, those warm, soft arms.  
  
"MOTHER!!"  
  
His base was under siege.  
  
The place that he had called home, what he could consider somewhat of a safe hold, was now the most dangerous place he could possibly be. Through the corridors, he could hear footsteps, the sounds of boots stomping down the hallways roughly. Sloth held himself firmly against the door, looking out the small peephole occasionally to see if someone was about to open the door. His only weapon was a single gun that he had managed to grab before fleeing to the room he was in now, his breathing hard. His wrists still bled, but were quickly scabbing. Outside, he could hear the tortured screams of his employees dying, the familiar sound of thousands of bullets present. Blood splattered against the peephole and Sloth drew back, shivering.  
  
"Well, this is a fine mess we've gotten into," came Adalheid's voice, the Mutant Shoyru sitting in the corner of the room. Amidst the chaos, she was completely calm, her face as even and sarcastic as ever. "What do you propose we do?"  
  
"Getting out of here sounds good."  
  
"Yes, but that brings up the question: where will a notorious criminal go when he runs? Does he have a place to run to? Considering how friendly you are with Malkus Vile, I'm thinking my answer is no."  
  
"Don't ask rhetorical questions in a time like this."  
  
"Granted."  
  
"But we do need to have a little chat with Malkus-there are some. . .things we must discuss." Adalheid seemed to get the clue that it was not a matter to speak on, so fell silent, deep in thought. The two both seemed preoccupied with what was on their mind, and suddenly Adalheid stood up, a light turning on in the dusty chambers of her head.  
  
At that very moment, however, a loud banging came at the door, the sound of feet kicking it roughly. Sloth ran over to it, as did Adalheid, the two putting the pressure of their bodies against the door to evade intrusion. However, their organic blockade would not last long-the shoves became harder and harder to resist, the door squeaking with the effort to not break. Sloth, in a desperate attempt to buy them a little more time, put the gun barrel against the peephole and fired one bullet. The shrieking sound of something dying could be heard from outside, and the kicking ceased for a moment, then being resumed once again.  
  
"Here's the plan," began Adalheid, leaning close to Sloth. "This room's air vents connects directly with the hangar, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yes, but I haven't used one of those ships in ages-my piloting skills are going along with my mind in my age."  
  
"Shut up. Thank God you made those vents big enough-you've gotta get through 'em to get to the hangar, open up the hatch and get to wherever you need to be. I'll distract 'em while you get out. Okay?" she said, her eyes fierce, daring him to second guess her plan.  
  
"But-"  
  
"Don't you dare contradict me, Doctor Frank Sloth-I've taken orders from you for the past twenty years, like it or not, even if I did complain. It won't be that much of a burden to follow my orders just for once, will it?" she said, her eyes burning. He shook his head, hesitating before handing the gun to Adalheid. Her angry face suddenly turned to a smile, desperate as it was, almost regretful in an odd way. "G'bye, Frank-I'll see you in a few hours, okay? We're gonna get outta this. Say hi to Psyche for me-tell her I won't take that long to get there." He nodded numbly, and then took off, scrambling to the vent, just barely able to pull himself up into it and close it behind himself.  
  
He couldn't just go, however, finding himself turning back, staring through the bars of the ventilation shaft, desperately looking at Adalheid. Her head was bowed downwards, her lips moving slightly, her murmur just barely audible. ". . .as we forgive those who trespass against us. . ."  
  
The door was suddenly burst down, nearly smashing Adalheid beneath it. She managed to slip out however, turning her face to the shock troops, clearly Lupe police. The sassy grin so familiar to Sloth spread across her face, almost cocky. She held up her gun and pointed it at them. "Hello, boys. No small talk, thank you-I think it's time we get down to business."  
  
He could not watch, turning around and fleeing down the passageway as fast as he could. The bullet shots from the police, however, were clearly audible down the echoing shaft, the sounds of a Shoyru's struggling last breath. "God forgive him." The shaft was suddenly silent. Sloth moved on through the shaft towards the hangar, tears joining the trail of blood that he left behind him. He could not stop. He would see Adalheid on the other side, just as she promised. 


	9. Restart

Server log on. Welcome Malkus Vile.  
  
Now opening direct communication with Zerstörung. Waiting for reply. . .  
  
Connection complete.  
  
Zerstörung: Ready to commence operation. What is the purpose of the connection?  
  
Vile_proto: Just to insure that little Gabrielle/Garoo is completely gone. Apparently she is.  
  
Zerstörung: Ready to commence operation. What is the purpose of the connection?  
  
Vile_proto: Indeed. . .sentience is gone. Fine. Commence.  
  
Zerstörung: Now commencing operation.  
  
Without warning, the many wires that had connected the robotic Blumaroo to the machine seemed to be ejected out immediately, falling to the ground. The eyes, which had been dark moments before, suddenly reactivated, though they were no longer of the calm demeanor that expressed the personality of Gabrielle/Garoo/Psyche. They were a burning red of that pure color, staring forwards into nothingness. Its words were cold and soulless, no emotion backing them. "Commencing operation."  
  
The bottom half of the robotic Blumaroo seemed to suddenly burst off, falling to the ground pointlessly. The insides of the robotic Blumaroo were now visible: twisted and black, they were churning, living yet made of machine. For a moment they writhed together like a bundle of snakes. And then they shot outwards at magnificent speeds, plunging into anything that they could stick onto. It plunged into the grand computers, the ground, and all of the employees around, with the exception of Malkus, standing carelessly, watching, a mere spectator, forgotten by the long tubes.  
  
From the base of the robotic Blumaroo that still remained surged a wave of black-purple electricity, flowing from each of the tubes, making contact with those that it had shish-ka-bobbed. Their anguish was apparent on their faces, their eyes ballooning to enormous proportions as a black plague of worms seemed to crawl through their skin. Their cries were lost on Malkus, calmly smoking a Cuban cigar as if he were merely observing a sport's game. The machines took the damage in a different way, short circuiting, and then beginning to melt into strands of ebony, writhing to the ground, becoming a mass of black goo. This, too, happened to the employees, nothing left of them but small piles on the floor, which suffered a similar fate.  
  
Around Malkus, his empire began to melt, though he cared not for it- and as that faded away, the plague spread to the grass outside, racing down it, morphing the luscious greenery into the black goo, congregating and then hardening, though it still seemed to move, alive. From the robotic Blumaroo's body came more of these tubes, grasping at everything they could touch. A timer came up on the Blumaroo's chest, indicating the time until complete destruction of this world, and then it would move onto the next it could grip: five minutes exactly.  
  
"Fool."  
  
The voice pierced through the sound of the mechanics working inside of the Blumaroo husk, coming from above. Malkus looked up mildly, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. He waved at the approaching helicopter cheerily, as if he were seeing an old friend he hadn't met with in a while. "Ah, Dr. Sloth! How kind of you to join us. I'm sure you've seen this ending many times in simulation-but doesn't it just mystify you to see it actually happening? Absolutely grand." He inhaled a deep breath of cigar smoke, letting it out in a perfect ring.  
  
One of the tubes shot upwards, plunging into the helicopter that Sloth was within. Sloth was thrown from the aircraft, falling to the ground, his fall broken by the cushioning black mass. It seemed to try and suck him in, a quicksand that would not release him. He grasped desperately at the hardened sides, feeling the muck crushing his internal organs. He gasped, the black muck crawling up to his face, trying to suffocate him. In a last-ditch effort, he compiled all of the adrenaline he could manage into one quick burst and managed to rip himself free, throwing himself onto the hardened surface, gasping for air, struggling to catch his breath.  
  
"Now, we are on an even turf, Sloth. I will soon kill you, and have no regrets." With those words, he brought out a gun from underneath his coat, pointing it downwards at Sloth. "I have no desire to let your precious little machine kill you-I'd rather delve into that pleasure myself." He jerked the gun upwards, indicating that Sloth should stand and turn. He did, struggling to get to his feet, turning. He could feel the cold metal of the gun against the base of his neck in an instant, another hand grabbing his arm tightly, nearly crushing his bones. "I will enjoy this too much," laughed Malkus.  
  
"Do you know why I created you?" asked Sloth, his voice strained by the pain in his arm. The blood dripped from his hands, but their pain was the last thing on his mind. Malkus' grip seemed to loosen slightly on his arm, but then tightened quickly, rage rising into Malkus' voice.  
  
"Yes-as a prototype for that stupid Neopets Version 2. You put me into this hellish body and left me to be on Earth, all alone. A misfit. In this world, you cannot be half and half-you must be whole. And that I was not. Nobody wanted me. Nobody wanted to be my owner. Everybody hated me. It was only natural I turned to a life like this-and I hate you for abandoning me like that. I hate you, and I hate my twisted self, created by you. I know that this personality isn't real, but I want to deny it, to think that I am somehow all organic, or even all machine. But I am neither. I am a damned freak, and it's all your fault. And so I will kill you, and then let myself die."  
  
"Heh," said Sloth, a slight smile sliding onto his face. He closed his eyes gently. "It figures."  
  
"What figures?"  
  
"God created humans in his image. At least, that's what they believe. And I have created something in my own image, though unintentionally."  
  
"Neopets Version 2."  
  
"No. Yourself."  
  
"Liar," snarled Malkus. "I am nothing like you."  
  
"Aren't you? We were both lonely. We were both rejected. We both turned to paths that neither of us like."  
  
"I am fine with the way I have decided to live my life!"  
  
"No, you aren't. You hate it. You hate the crime. You hate the killing. And yet you let it happen. Just like me."  
  
"No! That's not true!"  
  
"Yes, it is. You hate yourself. You hate your creator. You hate your parents, in a way. You have locked your emotions behind doors. And so you will kill me, completing your step away from sentience. You have a choice, Malkus-you can kill me, or you can't. But if you kill me, you will have let something else choose for you: the path you have chose to live."  
  
"Hypocrite. What you say makes you no more sentient than myself."  
  
"Yes. But for you, it could be different. It could be very different, Malkus. You could let me live, and I could stop this machine."  
  
"Never! You're all dying with me!"  
  
"Do you really want that, Malkus?"  
  
"Yes! I want you all to die! I hate you, you fuckers! I hate you all! I hate you all! I HATE YOU ALL!"  
  
Sloth prepared himself for his death, quick as it would be, being the bullet would be delivered to the back of his neck. He heard the deafening crack of a bullet being shot, but did not feel the pain-perhaps this was finally the death he had craved before: a complete lack of feelings, a complete lack of anything. But he found that he was capable of opening his eyes, capable of moving his hands, the pain returning to them, two burning holes in them as well as his wrists. The cold metal was no longer against his skin. He lifted up his hand and clenched it and opened it. Pain. He was not dead.  
  
He turned around, and found that Malkus was not behind him. He looked downwards, and saw the rotund form of the Skeith on the ground, the barrel of the gun inside of his mouth, as if he were planning to eat it. His eyes were opening, twitching, short-circuiting occurring inside of his mind. His lips moved slightly, jerking, a scratchy voice coming out. "I. . .hate. . .you. . ." His body then stopped jerking, the hand pulling away from the gun stationed firmly inside of his mouth, falling to the hardened muck with a hard thump. Sloth looked down on his creation with pity, but could find no tears for the tortured android. He bent down and closed the eyelids of the Skeith, taking the gun out of his mouth, though it hurt his hands. He inspected it for a moment, and then threw it aside, the gun getting sucked up by the muck. He turned his attention back to Malkus, a mixture of blood and oil dripping from his mouth. Shaking his head pityingly, he spoke two words that Malkus had sought his whole life:  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Kummer saw the destruction around him and wondered why he was not dying. Around him humans and Neopets fell to an invisible plague, its essence radiating from not far away. He wondered why he was not dead in the first place, destroyed by the police. He wondered what had happened to Sloth, what had happened to Psyche, and finally, what had happened to Tacitus and Tristus. He was alone, though he did not feel it. He felt empty, moving aimlessly about, the plague not seeming to effect him, nor the emotions of so many perishing around him. He strolled carelessly past two people clutching desperately to one another, lips locked as they both were attacked by the plague at the same time, transforming into the muck in only moments of their last kiss.  
  
"Zerstörung," he mumbled to himself, looking into the distance. He could see a great looming form in the sky above, many tubes coming from its body, many others shooting out, but none directed at him. "It has been activated. Psyche.Psyche is gone." The permanence of his words seemed to strike him after he had spoken them, but he did not have time to weep-he was too exhausted to cry, to weep over his loss. Instead, he plowed forward towards the form in the air, his face a stony impression of apathy.  
  
As he approached, he could see the familiar figure of Sloth-or rather, himself, if he hadn't merely been a simulation, not physical at all. The man looked upwards at the machine of destruction that he had created, a grim look on his face. At his feet, the Skeith known as Malkus Vile lay dead, lying in a puddle of oil and blood.  
  
"We never wanted Project PSYCHE back for this purpose," said Sloth sadly, not bothering to look towards Kummer, knowing his presence already. "I just wanted my child back. My intentions were good. Why did this happen?"  
  
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."  
  
"We have long completed that road, Kummer. And now it is time for me to reach the final destination."  
  
"Me? Not us?"  
  
"No. I do not require you to sacrifice yourself to stop this demon. It is my responsibility. Not yours."  
  
"You were the one that told me I was you."  
  
"Indeed, you are. But you did not create a monster with your own hands." Sloth's mouth pulled into a straight line. "I am gravely sorry for all the trouble I have caused you, Kummer. I have given you more grief than someone even with that nickname of yours deserves. But do not strike my physical self-it is necessary that I utilize it to halt the destruction, and reverse it appropriately."  
  
"Yes. Universale Einlösung. But you realize, you will die."  
  
"Yes, I do. My life is inconsequential compared to all of the others."  
  
"You just want to join Gabrielle." Sloth smiled.  
  
"That too. But I doubt I can ascend to Heaven with all of the sins on my soul. They will sink me to Hell."  
  
"There is a way that you will not have to die."  
  
"I said, Kummer, you need not sacrifice yourself. This is my dilemma- not yours."  
  
"We are the same-and thus it is also my dilemma. A carbon copy's life should not have priority to the original draft. Now, take me in your hands, and we will finish this."  
  
Sloth could do nothing more than oblige, the robot's face set on his decision. Sloth picked up the Kiko, holding him forward, towards the machine of destruction before them. Together, they spoke in unison, their voices blending into one. "Ich bin der Leidtragende!" they cried into the sky together.  
  
The machine seemed to halt in its rate of destruction, the numbers :30 printed on its chest. The robotic Blumaroo's burning red eyes turned down to the two souls on the ground, the ones that it had forgotten to strike. With a madness, it suddenly ripped away some of its many tentacles and flung them at the two of them, the two standing firmly in place.  
  
The tentacles struck through Kummer's body, cracking his facial screen and going clear through his body easily, the black electricity contrasting with the yellow that came out of his body from being struck clear through. The tentacles, however, kept on going, though they were not supposed to, searing all the way down to Sloth, striking him through the stomach, piercing all the way through his body as well, coming out of his back, wriggling and twisting about. Sloth gagged, crumpling over, but still managed to hold Kummer tightly, his blood staining the white paint on Kummer's sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, grasping to Kummer as if he were the only life support he had. Tears budded from his eyes, running down the sides of his face, Kummer looking forward, an expression of suffering evident on his face. Their thoughts, however, were focused on the same thing.  
  
'Gabrielle. . .'  
  
"Daddy, what's Christmas?"  
  
The question came from nowhere, Sloth working on a project as Gabrielle stood by, Adalheid asleep in the chair, not doing her duty of keeping Gabrielle occupied while he attended to business. He turned a questioning eye towards her. Her smile was ever-present on her face, able to melt him in a single glance. Sighing, he turned away from his work and motioned for her to jump up onto his lap. She was more than happy to oblige, scrambling up onto his lap and resting her head on his chest.  
  
"It's been the longest time since I've celebrated that holiday. Where did you hear about it?"  
  
"School."  
  
"Well Christmas is. . .well, not everybody celebrates it, first of all. Only Christians, although by all the media attention it gets, you would expect that the whole world worships Jesus Christ. Christmas is basically. . ." Sloth's shoulders slumped, slightly stumped at explaining the holiday. Gabrielle knew little to anything about the Christian religion, and he aimed to keep it that way-that particular worship had offered him nothing but regrets. Gabrielle had even heard of Jesus Christ. ". . .well, it's basically when everybody's family gets together for one time of the year to celebrate an. . .event of joy."  
  
"What event?"  
  
"A birth."  
  
"Of who?"  
  
"Whose birth it is doesn't really matter-people rarely put this into account anymore. The basic spirit of Christmas is. . .just a time to be happy, to be released temporarily from the harbors that life brings upon a person. A time for happiness, being around loved ones. . .everything that brings you elation."  
  
"Don't you celebrate Christmas, Daddy?"  
  
"I used to, but. . .I haven't for years. I haven't had any family to be with."  
  
"You have me now, Daddy-so let's celebrate! I wanna put up a tree'n everything!" squealed Gabrielle, hugging her father as hard as she could. "We'll be happy together!"  
  
"Yes. . .I'll be happy," said Sloth, almost in surprise. "No. . .we'll be happy. Together. And it won't matter what anyone else thinks-as long as we have ourselves, we'll be happy." A smile graced his lips as he came to a realization he had missed for the past few years. He was happy. He was finally happy.  
  
Kummer awakened slowly, his consciousness coming very gradually. The sun shimmered on the morning dew of the grass, glistening into his eyes. There was dew on his facial screen as well, and he wiped it away as best he could, blinking his eyes. How had the grass grown so tall around here? He didn't remember there grass being here-only darkness. But it was gone now, so he needn't think about that existence anymore-this time was now, the past past. One word came into his mind, however, as he blinked again, this time against the sun.  
  
"Psyche. . ."  
  
He lifted himself from his sideways position on the ground, everything else wiped from his mind. In the distance, he could hear the recovering bustle of Neopia Central, many wondering what had happened in the last few hours. Humans as they were, they would soon move away from their thoughts of things that no longer existed in their mind and keep on moving with their lives. They were beings of constant change-they could get past what had happened long ago. They were adaptable beyond any other organism on the planet.  
  
Kummer looked around, his eyes falling upon a glittering piece of metal in the field. He was suddenly quite awake, moving rapidly towards the still being. Indeed, it was a robotic Blumaroo, and as he checked over more thoroughly, it was the body that Psyche used. Her eyes, however, were blank, and his heart jumped-she couldn't have been destroyed, could she? What had happened that could've caused this catastrophe? Why couldn't he remember?  
  
"Father?"  
  
Psyche's eyes became brighter bit by bit, looking upwards at Kummer. For a moment, her face turned into a goofy grin-but then it faded, and her expression became confused. "Kummer." The confusion gave way to a more even smile, and she sat up slowly. She looked towards the rising sun, and shook her head. "I have this feeling I should remember something. . .but. . .it passes me by. I don't remember much about the past few days. . .what happened, Kummer?"  
  
"I don't know," admitted Kummer, resting his head against Psyche's shoulder. "But I feel.better. I think.I guess something good happened."  
  
"What about Tristus and Tacitus?"  
  
"I'm sure they're around. Somewhere. They're happy somewhere, happy together."  
  
"Those two could never be happy together."  
  
"You never really know how people work, Psyche."  
  
"We're not human, Kummer. We're just robots."  
  
"Are we?"  
  
"Yes. But I think I can be content with that now," said Psyche, her smile becoming gentler. "I don't know what happened. . .but I agree, it must have been something good. I like being just a robot. I don't want to be anything more."  
  
"Me neither."  
  
"I'm tired, Kummer," Psyche said softly, her eyes dimming slightly. Kummer offered her a shoulder to sleep on, and she obliged, resting her head on his shoulder. "So very tired. . .but. . .wake me. . .if you remember."  
  
"I will," assured Kummer. "I will." Kummer settled himself down, allowing Psyche to rest on him. Where there had before been emptiness, there was now a sense of wholeness. He looked up into the deep blue sky and forgot about forgetting about the last few days. He moved on from what had shackled him down to the past, breaking through doors that had been before locked and inaccessible. He was happy. He was finally happy.  
  
Author's Note: The crappy, happy ending of doom! Aaand it's over. By far my longest Neopets fic ever. Thank God nobody read this, I think it would explode their brain from its sheer badness. 


End file.
